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What Would One 
Have ? 


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What Would One 

»» 

Have ? 


A Woman’s Confessions 


“ It was not cut short ; and in the end it learnt, through tears 
and much pain, that Holiness is an infinite compassion for 
others; that Greatness is to take the common things of life 
and walk truly among them ; that Happiness is a great love 
and much serving.” — Olive Schreiner. 


) 


> 


BOSTON 

JAMES H. WEST COMPANY 


LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two CoDies Received 

MAY 5 1906 

Entry 
XXc, No. 
B. 


-^Copyright 

teg-' 
/// 


COPY 



Copyright, 1906 

By James H. West Company 



What Would One 
Have ? 


I 

“ And so I write, and write, and write, 

Just for the sake of writing to you, dear.” 


D ear Arthur : — 

My soul’s friend — yes, I believe I 
can, with perfect abandon, tell you all. 
There are moments when you seem, in reality, 
my other self. I feel it will bring relief to lay 
my breast up close to your own while we 
mutually feel the beating of the Infinite Heart 
through an ** uncut cord.” 

Can I tell you all, all, from infancy to widow- 


6 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


hood ? — up through the baby-girl days, — up 
through the serious sorrows of childhood’s 
inexperience, — misty maidenhood, — wonder- 
ing, dreaming young womanhood, — conven- 
tional marriage, widowhood, and at last — ? 

As you already know, Arthur, I was born 
and bred on one of the large rough farms 
of western New York. Looking back to 
the early seventies, I remember myself a 
chubby little tot, roaming about in pursuit 
of happiness — my inalienable right. Ab- 
stract thoughts of life and liberty came 
later ; but, for the time, like the ordinary 
robust baby, I absolutely sought and demanded 
happiness. The selfish, coercive spirit was 
not wanting, and at this my parents no doubt 
felt relief, if they thought about the matter 
at all. I should not die, as the good children 
do; they would raise up unto themselves a 
daughter, and mother should have, what she 
so much needed, some one to help her. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 7 


In pursuit of happiness ! A lisping tod- 
dler — daring to venture forth on such a 
quest ! Poor baby ! Wonderment, even then, 
why all the beautiful spools and buttons must 
be taken out before they gave me the empty 
boxes. Was it always going to be empty 
boxes — empty boxes ? 

Nevertheless, I grew and waxed strong. 
There were five of us children, — two brothers 
older than myself, a brother and a sister 
younger. I often catch myself looking at 
little children and wondering if life means 
something of satisfaction to them. We hear 
much about the joys of childhood — as if a 
child could scarcely be a child and not be 
happy ! 

I do not remember myself as a happy child. 
No love was ever manifest upon that old farm, 
and I believe here rested the secret of my 
child-hunger. Nobody ever kissed anybody, 
no one ever said a love-word. It seemed all 
work and worry. Why didn’t some one stop 


8 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


long enough to say, “ My darling baby ! ’* I 
was so lonesome, so tiny, and so stranger-like I 
But they were all too busy, and so the tragedy 
went on. Arthur, I believe no suffering can 
quite equal that of a child. It has not learned 
by experience the law of universal utility, which 
comes with more mature analysis. ** We all 
begin by singing with the birds and running 
fast with June days, hand in hand.” The 
“bitter and convincing times,” however, are 
soon to follow. Perhaps Nature does not 
intend to satisfy her offspring over-much. 
Indeed, for myself, grateful as I am, I must 
say that the real satisfactions have come to 
me only at rare moments — in glints and 
snatches, when, like Herr Teufelsdrockh, with 
quick tympanum I could hear the very grass 
grow, and my universal kinship became thus 
revealed to me. 

Yes, the strenuous life had stridden out 
there upon that old farm. Milk-pans and 
milk-pails were there, butter to make, bread 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 9 


to bake, stockings to mend. These, with the 
necessary scoldings and whippings, left no 
place for love and caresses among the seven 
beings, two elders and five juniors, who stayed 
several years at that given point in space. 


lO 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


2 

“ For mark you, men will dream. The most we can ask 
is, that the dream be not in too glaring discord with the 
reality.” 

T he wind blows gustily this March day, 
and the lively little rain-drops, striking 
against the window-pane, importune me 
for recognition, and take me out of my moody 
reminiscence — almost giving the soul-touch. 

I must use that word soul often, Arthur. 
To me it expresses reality — the innermost 
essence of a thing — as no other word does. 
Can any atom of matter stand outside of 
consciousness? Perhaps outside of self-con- 
sciousness ; but does not manifestation itself 
necessarily imply a certain consciousness ? 
Am I akin to these rain-drops ? I feel I am. 
Brother spirits, all hail I 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? ii 


3 

“ Of little plaintive voices innocent, 

Of life in separate courses flowing out 
Like some great river to some outward main, 

I hear life — life I ” 

y^ROSS lots ” to the country school-house, 
t which stood on a corner of the farm, 
was the next turn in experience. I 
now came into contact with the outside world, 
and began a deeper study of man’s relation to 
man. I can see that old school-room now, 
with its home-made desks painted a slate-blue, 
and further decorated with pencil-markings 
and knife-carvings. I can see those rows of 
grinning urchins, who came in from the various 
nooks and corners of the “ deestrict ” — what 
reverence I had, at this period, for the big ” 
boys and girls who did those examples in long- 
division on the blackboard, more puzzling to 


12 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


my childish mind than were the Egyptian 
hieroglyphics to Champollion ! 

My envy and admiration were much exer- 
cised over the buxom beauty of Edna and 
Cora, the two belles of the school, who re- 
ceived so much honor and attention. Well, 
Emerson says we can lose reverence for things 
without losing our reverence. At eight years 
my reverence was great for examples in long- 
division, and for the big boys and girls who 
did them. I have held other things in rev- 
erence since ; shifting my base often, resting 
my lever sometimes on one fulcrum and some- 
times on another. Praise God, I still have 
my reverence left, though reverence for per- 
sons and things has almost perished. Only 
minor traces of the barbarian now remain ; 
and, through much jostling, I incline more 
and more to ‘‘ hitch my wagon to a star.” 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 13 


4 


“God’s kindergarten, — the world of men and women.” 

I T was at this period that I told my first lie. 
It was no cherry-tree affair. I simply 
wanted to see my name coupled in writing 
with the name of Archie Brown, my most 
admired gentleman friend.” Others had 
their names so written, — I must have mine. 

The temptation was too great, and so I 
wrote what I wanted on the blue-drab of the 
entry door. My satisfaction was small com- 
pared with my discomfort and chagrin, when 
a torturing rival discovered my weakness and 
folly. I declared emphatically, I never wrote 
any such ‘‘horrid thing,” — I said I “just 
hated” Archie Brown, — and then I cried, 
partly from shame, partly because of the lies 
I had told. Poor womankind ! 


14 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 

From my mother I had heard about the 
lake of fire awaiting the bad ones of earth — 
I trembled with fear. Then I remembered 
that my father had said the place was a hoax, 
like all the other doctrines taught by ** chicken- 
eating” preachers. And while I hoped my 
father was right, I was in hell but didn’t know 
it. I didn’t recognize the place, because I 
thought blisters were made only by literal 
fires. Poor humankind! 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 15 


5 


“ Of a man or a nation we inquire therefore, first of all, 
What religion had they ? ” 

I THINK, Arthur, my early religious en- 
vironment, being vital, will not be devoid 
of interest to you. Both father and mother 
had been raised strictly Orthodox, of the long- 
drawn, never smile sort. Father had revolted 
and was called by his neighbors an infidel. 
Those people were not discriminating. Infidel 
was an all-round term, signifying everything 
that was bad — ungodlike. I cannot say my 
father was an ungodly man. He was passing 
out of the old into the new, and made the 
quite common mistake of staying too long on 
negative ground. Renouncing such old faiths 
and traditions as were in evident decay was 
not enough ; through many years he seemed 


i6 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


to take a vindictive delight in reading and 
quoting from such literature as was written 
directly for the purpose of breaking down old 
ideals. To burn and clean the ground for a 
future crop is well. To plant and sow the 
seed is well, too. Iconoclasts have a work to 
do, certainly ; but they seldom give us soul- 
food, and how shall we live without bread ? 
A plastic, receptive mind ready for inflow or 
outflow, is one thing ; and the man who 
hardens in the negative, and labels himself a 
free-thinker, may be quite another. Yes, let 
us have the builders as well as the breakers, 
that out of retained reverence the children of 
men may grow forever, by rearing new struct- 
ures to the ideal. To me as to all children, 
my father was an oracle of wisdom ; and so, 
if I entered my mental life bound at all, it was 
with a fetter of negativeness, which is no less 
a fetter. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 17 


6 


“ But I could not hide 

My quickening inner life from those at watch. 

They saw a light at a window now and then, 

They had not set there. Who had set it there ? ” 

T here was a distinct phase of my child- 
life, Arthur, that you may think unique, 
if not altogether unnatural. I was given 
to moods resembling depression, though that 
term does not altogether define my feeling. 
Usually these came when I was lying awake 
morning or evening, the scene ending with tears 
and sobbing. Sometimes my mother found me 
so, and to her natural questionings I could give 
no rational answers. Analysis was beyond 
me then ; I think I understand better now. 
Listening to father as he read aloud, during 
his scanty spare moments, from the New York 
Worlds from the county newspaper, or from 


i8 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


Colonel Ingersoll’s lectures, I gradually gath- 
ered the unwholesome impression of discord 
and danger abroad and powerful. 

As with Prince Gautama, a great burden 
came to rest upon my heart. There was so 
much wrong and suffering in the world ; 
nobody seemed to love anybody anywhere. 
Why, why did they do so ? Why were they 
not good ? Why did they all prey upon each 
other ? Why did not some one tell them, if 
they would only love one another, how happy 
they all would be, and nobody be hurt any 
more ? 

I am very grateful for these experiences 
when I look back now. I believe these 
touches came from the instinct that some- 
times manifests itself in great art-rhythm 
attesting the persistence and reality of the 
good and beautiful. Perhaps it might prop- 
erly be called the very Messianic instinct it- 
self, in embryo. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 19 


7 

“ Stay, O stay ! . . . 

It cannot be 1 They pass away 1 
Other themes demand thy lay ; 

Thou art no more a child ! ” 

T he pleasantest experiences of this time 
were those when uncles and aunts 
came, with cousins of all ages ; or 
when, two or three times a year, we were all 
bundled into the big sleigh in winter, or into 
the democrat ” wagon in summer, for a day 
or two of outing at grandfather’s. 

Everything was so novel and interesting 
at grandpa’s ! Even the cows had their 
own distinct individuality over against our 
“ Cherry ” and “ Stub-horn.” The milk at 
grandfather’s had a peculiar flavor all its 
own — milked into wooden instead of tin 
pails, and strained through a cloth instead of 


20 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


through a strainer, as at home. The bed- 
sink, the rag carpet, the hair sofa, and each 
piece of cheap bric-a-brac, were fraught with 
impressiveness. 

There were bees humming, ducks waddling, 
and turkeys strutting, all so wonderful, so 
wonderful ! I remember that on one occa- 
sion the old gobbler very early took a dislike 
to the bright red print dress I wore, and kept 
me fleeing for safety before his autocratic 
presence. The great shaggy shepherd-dog 
was a world of wonder in himself. With 
children, as with grown-ups, the familiar, the 
commonplace, cease to be wonderful, magical. 
Curiosity, wonderment, worship of the far 
away, lure us on. In new scenes and strange 
faces we hope to find more lasting satisfac- 
tion. Our landscapes are not so beautiful, 
the men we meet are not so wise or loving — 
we will wander afar. Poor ‘^perennial globe- 
trotters ” ! Poor happiness-pursuers ! It was 
later, when I went to live at grandfather’s. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 21 


and a grass-widow aunt scolded me for break- 
ing the glass milk-pitcher, and grandma made 
me sit a half-hour with folded arms while 
grandpa read the Bible and offered prayers, 
that I cried to go back home. As Sam 
Walter Foss says : 

“ I want to go somewhere ! — I want to get back 1 
Is the shuttle-cock cry of the heart.” 


22 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE ? 


8 

“’Tis not what man Does which exalts him, but what 
man Would do.” 

G ood old Puritanical grandma would 
put to shame Matt Quay or Tom Platt, 
when she wire - pulled grandpa into 
going down to see Sophia, my mother, in 
order to get me taken home. A very mild 
suggestion of the kind at first brought forth 
a series of ejaculations : 

“ I ain’t no night-hawk, I ain’t ! Got to 
git them oats in ’fore it rains. Some folks 
ain’t never contented else they’re a-chasin’ off 
somewheres.” 

Good old grandma knew ; — she hadn’t 
heard anything about language being used by 
men to conceal their thoughts, but to me she 
said softly : 

“ Get ready just as fast as you can.” 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 23 


We were none too early in our prepara- 
tions. Old sorrel Jim ” soon came lumber- 
ing up to the door, drawing a freshly greased 
buggy, and grandfather shouted : 

** Sha’n’t wait two minutes for ye ! Pile 
in ; we ought to ’a' been on the road an hour 
ago.” 

•In we quickly clambered, and off Jim 
shambled on his fourteen mile drive, while 
grandpa beguiled the way with a character- 
istic humming-tune, all his own, broken in 
upon, every now and then, by “ G’lang, lazy 
bones ! ” or ‘‘ G’lang, saphead ! ” When Jim 
responded mildly to the gentlest tap of the 
old stub whip, grandfather said, Then g’lang, 
when I tell ye ! ” 

When we reached our destination, the 
greetings were hardly over before grandfather 
began to talk of going home, of the oats, and 
of the rain. But he smiled when the boys 
commenced to dig bait and make general 
preparations for a fishing-excursion. 


24 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


He took great delight in telling of his 
early prowess as a sportsman and fisherman. 
Grandmother’s New England piety kept her 
exact to the letter, and she constantly acted 
as a balance-wheel while grandfather related 
his adventures. 

On one occasion, when he told of the mar- 
velous “ ketch ” of fish he had once taken 
from the Alleghany river, grandma disputing, 
he said with great excitement : 

“ I ain’t goin’ to give in ! Didn’t Nancy 
bring down two pails to hold ’em all ? ” 

Grandma replied very seriously : 

“Well, — mebbe. It would be jest as 
wicked ter tell it a little tew small as it would 
ter tell it a little tew big.” 

They both fell asleep at last, at a good old 
age, — grandma conscientious, and grandpa 
too, with all his exaggerations. The gentle, 
suggestive manner with which he used the 
whip on old Jim’s back was to me homely 
evidence of a sympathetic heart. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 25 


9 


** Oh, there are brighter dreams than those of Fame, 
Which are the dreams of love.” 

T he semi-annual donation for the poorly 
paid Methodist preacher, who preached 
in the school-house every two weeks, 
was a great social function for the country 
people of the time. Such an event was 
approaching ; the very afternoon of the even- 
ing was upon us, and each family and each 
member of each family was busy and breath- 
less. 

Mother was to bake a cake — a real frosted 
one, and she was afraid of her luck. She 
decided upon a tall pyramid, as they were 
the fad among country housekeepers. Susan 
Green, the brag cook of the neighborhood, 
had made one at the last donation one layer 


26 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


higher than her ambitious neighbors, and for 
six long months had been alternately envied 
and worshiped as the lioness of the hour. 

I heard my mother express her very de- 
cided feeling upon the subject, often. She 
said she thought if her » man ” had a mort- 
gage on his place, she would leave tall cake- 
baking to women whose husbands didn’t owe 
anything. She further intimated the bare 
possibility that poor, deaf John, the other half 
of Susan, fared no better than he should at 
the hands of this unthrifty sharer of his bed 
and board. Still others hinted at something 
worse in the life of the garrulous Susan than 
riotous wasting of substance. All the sweet- 
ness, all the bitterness found in petty scandal 
or neighborhood gossip, came to these good- 
meaning country dames over that one extra 
layer of pyramid cake. 

Poor Susan’s ambition came near being 
her downfall in the community. I think now 
the instruction of Cardinal Wolsey, well acted 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 27 


upon, would have saved her many a withering 
glance from her less fortunate sisters : 

“ Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition ; 

By that sin fell the angels ; how can man then, 

The image of his Maker, hope to win by ’t ? ” 

Alas ! not one soul of us had ever heard of 
the bard of Avon, so we groped madly on in 
pursuit of happiness, knocking our heads 
against each other, both hurt, nothing gained ; 
— wasting energy, on we rushed. We ran 
so fast we never thought of looking at our 
side for the thing we sought. We could not 
see. Strange paradox : luminosity blinds us, 
and we call it dark. 

Supper is nearly ready at the donation. 
The men of the congregation are gathered 
with great dignity in the big ** spare room,” 
while the worthy women-folk diligently apply 
themselves to culinary arrangements. Later- 
day salads and tutti-frutti dishes are not here, 
but other good things are revealed hidden 


28 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


away in the mammoth baskets, and the odor 
of steeping coffee reaches us young people 
playing “ Snap-and-catch-’em ” and “ Needle’s- 
eye ” in the hall-like chamber above. 

‘‘ The young folks are to eat first with the 
preacher.” So says Martha Brown, who 
orders the ceremonies with bustling impor- 
tance. 

Lo ! he approaches — a boy ! — a young 
man ! — a something, anyway, wearing no 
merino skirt, as I myself did, but a real pair 
of pants ” ! It couldn’t be. Oh, blissful 
moment ! — he really was asking me to supper 
with him. Those downy lips said it. I saw 
them move nervously. ’Twas true ! Do not 
laugh, — I was almost thirteen ! 

I was a woman really, now ! I could wear 
my dresses long, hereafter, and assume new 
dignities ! True, he wasn’t the one I would 
have chosen out of the crowd of boys. I 
liked Archie better, for his hair was black 
and curled, while Anson’s was light and so 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


29 


straight it pitched awkwardly over his fore- 
head. But then, what would one have? I 
was chosen by some one. A new, delightful, 
even thrilling experience was upon me. 

Only last year I called upon this light- 
haired, freckle-faced youth of other days, — 
now a prosperous lawyer of Buffalo. The 
world has rubbed off all the greenness, and 
he has money, it is said, — yea, even filthy 
lucre has he ! But he could not awaken again 
in my heart — I know — one momentary heart- 
throbbing such as he gave me when, that 
autumn night, we ate together our pumpkin 
pie, preserves, and pyramid cake. 


30 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


lO 

“A youth, who bore, ’mid snow and ice, 

A banner with the strange device, 

Excelsior ! ” 

A t fourteen I went out to teach my 
first school and earn my first dollar. 
Appalling thought ! Other souls were 
to receive impetus and instruction from a 
child just in her teens. But what of that? 
Nature drops her supreme gift, a fresh 
new plastic being, into the arms of girls 
as young. 

A strange, careless-seeming old dame is 
Nature, but she knows her own, and she 
never flurries or gets red in the face. O 
great matrix of infinitude in which we and 
all things are cradled so safely, from whence 
come fear and restlessness ! Even in the 
house where I myself now went to room, with 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 31 


food and fuel brought from home, — even 
there I found a girl of my own age, married 
to a man of thirty, and about to become a 
mother. 

I do not accuse my father of any mercenary 
spirit in putting me into this school ; though, 
having burdened himself with a new indebt- 
edness for a land purchase that made him 
poorer, I remember he gladly appropriated 
the cheque for my wages, and I never saw it 
more. I suppose it was ‘‘benevolent assim- 
ilation.” High sounding words, and good 
phrasing, Arthur, have covered a multitude 
of sins from time immemorial. 

When I cried myself to sleep the first 
night of school-teaching, I had myself chiefly 
to thank for the pickle I was in. I wanted 
to teach. I had played “teach school ” many 
times at home. 

I had painted my picture. I would have a 
fine time ! What satisfaction to ring the bell 
and see every little soul-atom obey automatic- 


32 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


ally ! Order is Heaven’s first law. I could 
see them sitting there before me, so demure, 
conscientiously waiting to do my slightest 
bidding, and I would walk among them with 
the feeling of divine right. 

Ideas founded upon these premises have 
brought crowned heads to the block, and 
blockheads to crowns and other trouble. My 
chief motive was ambition, with perhaps a 
sprinkling of high aspiration. (I desire, 
Arthur, to speak truth to you!) There is 
a great gulf between these two attitudes of 
mind, though the world seems not yet to 
discriminate carefully between them. Aspira- 
tion is a latent soul-quality. I had not yet 
been whipped into the kingdom. Even as 
others before me, I had commenced to beat 
my wings against the bars of the environ- 
ment set close about me, and I wanted a 
finer life.” 

I would read, earn money, and father 
would let me go to the academy. I would 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


33 


“be somebody.” Father's mother, Laura 
Beecher, came from New Haven, he told us, 
and belonged to the original stock of “ brainy 
Beechers.” I had never seen this grand- 
mother, who died early, but old pioneers 
spoke of her as “a lady born and bred.” I 
believed then in kingly pedigree, and my 
blood tingled. I have grown to believe more 
in the One Life, and in the utility of suffer- 
ing. No soul can boast over another. Souls 
are not comparable ; for they are of one 
stuff — plastic, evolutionary, compelled by 
necessity to become great Nature’s demo- 
crats. 

I need not go into the details of that four 
months of teaching. When March was over, 
and I didn’t have the fires to build on cold 
mornings, and when the bread and butter 
odor, so characteristic of close school-rooms, 
had departed, life became monotonously bear- 
able. 

Often a stubborn girl or mischievous boy 


34 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE ? 


made me fearful of more serious trouble, for 
I had been told the teacher before me was 
obliged to leave with an unfinished term. 
But though sometimes severely tried, still I 
had my great hope strong within me : I would 
bide my time, go to school, and ‘‘be some- 
body.” 

Something ludicrous, something pathetic, 
touches me when I look back and see that 
little girl-teacher going to and fro in her 
barren round. My mother had neither time 
nor talent for dressmaking. I remember the 
dress I wore most of the time during that 
term, — an old alpaca of mother’s, made over 
by some neighbor thought clever with the 
needle. She had made my dress, overskirt, 
and basque, trimmed with plaiting. I had 
grown since the making, and it had become 
what might properly be called short-waisted 
and out of date. June was with us, and my 
thick-lined waist was as uncomfortable as it 
was unbecoming. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 35 


Never mind, I would soon be through, 
have money, and perhaps sometime go to 
college. If I had no new and stylish 
dress, nevertheless I had my great hope. 
No one could daunt my spirit or take that 
from me. 


36 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


1 1 

“ And lived my life, and thought my thoughts, and prayed 
My prayers without a vicar.” 

O NE day a carriage halted before the 
school-house door. I recognized my 
dude cousin Frank, from Fieldsboro’, 
who called me out to introduce me to two 
charming ladies occupying the back seat. 

<< These are our cousins who have come 
from the east to spend a few weeks among 
the New York relatives. They are mother 
and daughter, Cousin Mary Curtis, — Cousin 
Caroline Beecher Curtis.” 

There they sat, — and there stood I, self- 
conscious, blushing, and stammering. It was 
Friday afternoon, — would I not ride home 
with them ? They were going to stay a 
week at my home. I soon dismissed school 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 37 


and seated myself beside Cousin Frank, in 
front, I knew they were looking at that 
short- waist ed alpaca basque, and the thought 
hurt, — oh, how it hurt ! Then I remembered 
my hope, and I think I felt as Samantha says 
she did when Josiah told her she didn’t have 
any brains. She didn’t care, for she knew 
she had ! 

A tragedy was going on, Arthur. How 
I suffered during the visit of those city 
cousins 1 They had real culture — what 
Matthew Arnold rightly names sweetness 
and light. They talked about our beautiful 
hills and the advantages of rural life, but I 
couldn’t see it. It all seemed very common- 
place and mean to me ; I felt chained to a 
death - in - life existence. I almost loathed 
myself. I had not asked to come, but some 
inevitable necessity had taken me out of the 
Unknown and placed me here. I had the 
blood of my beautiful and cultured cousin — 
I almost felt that I longed more than she for 


38 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE?' 


the ideal, better called the real ” ; but here 
we were, alike, yet diverse. Was there a 
God ? Was there justice in the world ? 
Perhaps not. My father was right ! — for 
even mortals were not so unkind to mortals. 

I had not suffered enough ! It was a long 
time, with much to endure, before I found a 
sure anchor. 

That week’s visit was a week of tears for 
me. My one word to my cousin, when we sep- 
arated, was, ** I’ll be somebody yet, Carrie.” 

I had life, I had liberty ; I would yet find 
happiness. * 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 39 


I 2 

“ Sublimest danger, over which none weeps, 
When any young, wayfaring soul goes forth 
Alone, unconscious of the perilous road. 
The day-sun dazzling in his limpid eyes. 

To thrust his own way, he an alien, through 
The world of books.” 


C OUSIN Caroline Beecher had gone, but 
her influence had left its impression. 
My longing for better things was in- 
creased ten-fold, while the obstructions and 
impediments in my path seemed numberless. 
If I could gain access to proper literature ! 
But who was to guide me, and where were 
the books to be had } Some one told me of 
an old library, containing a few volumes, the 
property of the school district, and I hunted 
it up. I found the books piled away in the 
corner of an attic room. 


40 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


I wish memory would serve me to give the 
title of every book in the pile. I found one 
that interested me greatly. It was intended 
to show bad people how bad they were, and 
frighten them into being good. It contained 
many bright-colored pictures, in harmony with 
the picture opposite the title-page which rep- 
resented the devil with a horn in the middle 
of his forehead, and with a long lizzard-like 
tail finished with a fork. It didn’t take a 
great stretch of imagination to settle in my 
youthful mind the sole office of that fork. 
Some implement of the sort would work most 
conveniently, pitching wicked people into the 
lake that was also represented in the picture, 
seething with fire and brimstone. 

I thought of the one lie I had told ; but I 
didn’t feel very much of a shiver, for I had 
begun to believe that father was all right and 
that there was a mistake somewhere. 

I selected two books: a life of Henry 
Clay, and Locke “ On the Human Under- 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 41 


standing/' both old-fashioned, russet leather- 
covered, printed in small type and smelling 
of dust. I tried to become interested, but 
what with the odor of the yellow pages and 
the fine type I found the road to erudition 
uninviting enough. I was so hungry to glean 
a morsel of knowledge somewhere that I took 
them down frequently, from the chestnut 
mantel back of the kitchen stove. Explain 
to me why a dog gnaws at an old dry bone, 
and I will explain the satisfaction that came 
to me from even holding those old volumes. 

One day I came into contact with a book 
called Edna Browning,” written by Mary J. 
Holmes. A neighbor had received it from a 
young woman living in Fieldsboro’ ; — would 
she let me read it ? She would. I think I 
never ate nor slept until I had seen the poor 
young Edna through all her experiences. 
Oh, what a bliss 'twould be to have all such 
stories one could devour ! I returned the 
volume, telling its owner I should never rest 


42 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


contented until I had read every book ever 
written by Mary J. Holmes. My father said 
it was “made-up stuff” — all stories were 
made up — a lie. He never wanted me to 
spend my time reading things unless they 
were really true. I wondered greatly, like 
the little Lucy who was told by her mother 
she must eat no more jam. “Mamma,” said 
the little philosopher, “ why is it that every- 
thing we want to do is either wicked or will 
make us sick ? ” 

A few months passed. An aunt came to 
see us, — a woman proud, who wanted to 
“keep up,” as she called it. I told her I was 
exceedingly ambitious — so were Caesar and 
Susan Green. She said she had a book 
written by a man named Shakespeare. She 
would lend it to me, for all the people who 
“ keep up ” must know something of this 
man Shakespeare. She said she couldn’t see 
why they made such a fuss about him, for she 
had read the book a little, and in some places 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 43 


the language was not fit to be heard. I asked 
her if it was ** made-up stuff,” as father was 
very much opposed to anything made up. 
She said she didn’t really know, but, if other 
people considered it the thing, it didn’t matter 
whether it was true or not. So the book was 
sent to me, and I was thus introduced to the 
myriad-minded one, who knew all the heart’s 
gamut to perfection and played with its mys- 
teries as Emerson says little children play 
with grey-beards and in churches. 

I was no prodigy at fourteen, and the full 
appreciation of my newly discovered treasure 
came by degrees. So much the better, for 
the source seemed exhaustless. I was in a 
new world, with companions to satisfy every 
mood and fancy known to human experience. 
In sunny times I could sport fancy-free with 
Celia and Rosalind, in the forest of Arden ; 
but I much loved to live among those who 
suffered, and hours were spent in agony with 
Hamlet and Desdemona. 


44 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


A serious illness, occasioned by a fall, 
brought me close to life’s border-line. My 
mother came tearfully to tell me of my con- 
dition, and of the possible result. I cannot 
explain my feelings even yet, but I was almost 
happy. 

I was facing the old, unanswered question. 
If a man die, shall he live again ? ” But I 
was not afraid. Intuitively I felt I could 
trust the Universe; and then — the old ex- 
periences had tried me so ! If we were given 
another chance, perhaps I could come into an 
environment more congenial, like fortunate 
Cousin Carrie ; and so I waited, patient, till 
the crisis was over, and life forced me back 
once more into its mystic mazes. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 45 


13 

“ I did not die . . . slowly, by degrees 
I woke, rose up . . . where was I ? in the world ; 

For uses therefore I must count w'orth while.” 

D ear old Jason Bumpus, with his jolly, 
good-natured spouse Olive, lived in a 
cabin up on the hillside. Five acres of 
stony soil, a cow, a pig, some chickens, and a 
mule, were the external means of sustenance 
for this old couple. And yet I have never 
seen but one other example of ideal conjugal 
bliss. The cases were unlike in nearly every 
particular, except that both lived the uncon- 
ventional and simple life and that both were 
contented and happy. Junk collecting and 
tin peddling, by means of the mule, yielded 
Jason an extra penny now and then ; but on 
the whole this happy pair lived above the 
strenuous. 


46 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 

Everybody laughed at and derided old 
Jason. The boys played pranks on him, for 
sport, and still his old eyes were always spark- 
ling and his face was always smiling. His 
form was tall and angular, and his voice was 
a sharp falsetto, but he carried about some- 
where under that old “slouch” hat and 
weather-beaten coat the secret for which most 
of us waste many years of energy. 

I was sitting on the old porch settee, con- 
valescing slowly from my illness. The doctor 
had said I might never be strong again ; — 
what then would become of my glorious 
hope ? Tears came to my eyes, but I brushed 
them away, and looked up to see old Jason, 
mule and all, approaching. 

“ Hello ! little gal,” he sang out, in his 
high, peepy voice. “ How you gettin’ along ? 
Don’t feel very chipper yet, I reckon, — guess 
I’ll let Bill rest a minute while we visit,” he 
said, coming up the plank walk and patting 
my head. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 47 


“You’ve had a pretty hard time, hain’t ye? 
Look pale and kinder unhappy fer a gal as 
oughter be rosy and cherky. Wouldn’t ye 
like to visit a little with an old man ? Seems 
like sometimes it does a body good to talk 
things over with some one.” 

I had had so little of demonstrated affection 
in my fifteen years that the old man’s tender 
concern won my confidence at once. I told 
him of my great hope and what the doctor 
had said. 

“ Well, well, it’s just’s I thought, — ye 
want to pick a few stars, don’t ye ? I tuck 
my turn at star-gazin’ once. Animals, babies, 
and wild Injuns put a deal of stock in big 
glitterin’ things. I guess if we could pick a 
star, ’twouldn’t be, when we got it, what we 
thought it was. It’d be either too hot or too 
cold for us, or, mebbe ’twould be too big, and 
we’d be glad to let it go darn quick.” 

“ But,” I said timidly, “ I don’t want pretty 
dresses and things so much as I want to 


48 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


read the great books and see the great people 
of the world.” 

My old friend gave a little whistle, and 
continued : 

“ Gol-darned if blood ain’t thicker’n water ! 
Well, little gal. I’m glad ’tain’ nothin’ worse’n 
books and folks ye’re arter. Do ye see Bill 
out there ? Well, when ye’ve seen Bill ye’ve 
seen about all there is to muledom. Bill’s 
older and scragglier’n some on ’em, but he’s 
a mule every inch of him, ears and all, and 
what’s true of Bill is true of all other jack- 
asses the world over. 

“ Say,” he said, abruptly changing the sub- 
ject, ‘‘git ye sun-bunnit and ride up to the 
top of the hill with me. I’ll show ye some- 
thin’ worth goin’ to see.” 

We were soon toiling over the muddy, 
rough road, my companion enthusiastically 
pointing to every evidence of Nature’s spring 
awakening. 

When we reached the highest part of the 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 49 


hill, he carelessly left old Bill standing while 
he lifted me over the rail-fence and led me to 
the top of a great rock. Here, eagerly, he 
pointed out, with boy-like pleasure, a small 
patch of white anemone, the first of the 
year. 

Grand old man ! When I look back to 
that day and see the innocent animation 
beaming on his countenance, while his trem- 
bling hands put into my lap those early spring 
treasures, my heart swells. Am I guilty of 
sacrilege when involuntarily I compare this 
simple child-man with the so-called great men 
of the earth, whose faces often express an 
animation found in less innocent sources, and 
whose hands are not always unstained with 
the blood of their fellow men ? 

I made many pilgrimages to the simple 
home of my friends, Olive and Jason. That 
little cabin was no mere point in space — its 
vista opened to infinitude. Here were love, 
wisdom, reverence. The touch and spon- 


50 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


taneity that I missed at my father’s I found 
with these simple people, and very soon their 
gracious and soothing influences brought my 
mind and body back to a more normal con- 
dition. 

What bearing my associations at this period 
had upon my later mental attitudes, I cannot 
say. Complex, — more complex, — most com- 
plex ! But surely the secret is hidden from 
many who would be wise, and revealed unto 
babes and sucklings. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 51 


14 

“We drop the golden cup at Here’s foot 
And swoon back to the earth, — and find ourselves 
Face down among the pine-cones, cold with dew, 
While the dogs bark, and many a shepherd scoffs, 

‘ What’s come now to the youth ? ’ ” 

W HEN fall came I talked with my 
mother about the practicability of 
my going to Fieldsboro’ to learn the 
work in some dressmaking establishment. I 
could never face the outside world in the 
quaint garb I usually wore, and I must some- 
how find my way out into life, into the swash 
and the swirl. Mother fell in with my idea, 
but said father might object, as he generally 
did to all plans of the women-folk. 

I finally gathered up courage and broached 
the matter to him. I told him I would find 
a place to work nights and mornings for my 


52 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


board, so he consented to my going. I gath- 
ered my personal effects together into an old 
hair trunk with a broken lock, and waited to 
catch a ride to the village, eleven miles dis- 
tant. An uncle from near Fieldsboro’, who 
had been visiting friends on Quaker Hill, 
halted for dinner one day, and gave me my 
opportunity. We stood the trunk on end 
between the dashboard and our feet, and were 
soon on our way. 

When we reached our destination I found 
myself in a land of uncles, aunts, and cousins, 
but I very soon felt awkward and uncomfort- 
able. I almost despaired of further pursuing 
my enterprise. Everybody was busy with 
fall work, and I found myself thrust upon 
them, helpless and dependent. The aunt 
whose milk-pitcher I had broken, and who 
was at heart a sympathetic though impulsive 
woman, left off cleaning house and canning ” 
long enough to take me to town in search of 
a place as an apprentice. The first place at 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 53 


which we applied did not want a girl so early 
in the season ; the second had all the help 
needed ; and the third was going to close the 
shop on account of lack of health. We 
finally found a second-class dressmaker who 
would take me in. We looked about some 
time for a place where I might work nights 
and mornings, and at last got comfortable 
quarters with a dear old lady who was suf- 
ering from cataract and needed a girl to 
assist. 

I commenced work at once. The shop 
overlooked the main street that ran from the 
town to the Institute on the hill. Every day 
I was tantalized by the sight of the students 
passing to and fro with their books. A 
brilliant bevy of rosy school-girls is a pretty 
sight to me now, but then they were a torture 
to my envious heart. When I spoke mod- 
estly of my cherished hope, I was derided, 
and the head-dressmaker jestingly promised 
to make my graduating dress free of charge. 


54 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 

It was at this shop that I met my first 
congenial spirit. Helen Parker, a girl of 
eighteen, lived with her widowed mother in 
two cosy rooms rented from the dressmaker. 
I think we were drawn together in a musical 
way. Helen had a piano, — she invited me 
into the little home, we sang and played 
simple duets together, and our friendship 
grew into fondness. We commenced read- 
ing together, borrowing books of poems from 
whom we might. 

When two souls, Arthur, stand on a com- 
mon ground of insight and understanding, 
does it not always result in a feeling of 
kinship? It may be two men, it may be a 
woman and a man, it may be an old woman 
and a young girl, or it may be, as in this case, 
two young girls ; but love is the result. This 
is the love that knows not age nor sex nor 
condition, for it deals with realities and its 
governing law is affinity. I wage no warfare 
against the many other emotions men label 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 55 


love, but, as Fra Elbertus would say, I know 
some one who has tried them all and who 
affirms the genuineness of the genuine. 

On pleasant evenings we rambled off into 
the meadows, I walking slowly, for Helen had 
been lame from her birth. Sometimes we 
rowed on the creek till dark, and on Sundays 
reached the woods a mile away. We talked 
over our hopes and fears, together planned to 
do and to be sometime — were truly soul- 
companions. 

One evening Helen spoke of a concert to 
be given at the Institute, and we concluded 
to attend. It was the first entertainment I 
had ever witnessed outside of school exhibi- 
tions at home. No great artist I have ever 
seen has impressed me as did those girl 
and boy performers at Fieldsboro’ Institute, 
that prize - concert night. The Principal’s 
daughter, a pretty girl of my own age, sang 
in a clear sweet voice, “ Wait till the clouds 
roll by,” a song popular at the time. My 


56 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 

emotions almost overcame me. The words 
are still echoing within my brain : 

“ Oh, my Jamie, oh, my Jamie, 

Bide the time a wee ; 

Surely lanes must have their turning 
Ere the travelers dee. 

Bide the time in patience, Jamie, 

Looking to the sky ; 

Waiting like my love waits, Jamie, 

Till the clouds roll by.” 

What a gulf there seemed between that 
fluffy, lacy, white-muslined Annie Raymond 
and myself! 

How thirsty I was I I had received many 
rustic compliments when I sang at home and 
played my own half-impromptu accompani- 
ments upon the parlor-organ. But the artist i 
I soul within me had never been touched. Ex- 
pression is the normal attitude of the soul. 
How I longed to sing, to rest the burdened 
brothers and sisters of the world I Ye sordid 
devotees of commercialism, cast into one side 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 57 


of God’s great balance all the unearned incre- 
ment of the money-kings of the earth, and I 
will tip the beam with one ideal thought — 
one soul-inspiration — thrown into the oppo- 
site pan. When shall society give attention 
to these wasted resources of humanity’s 
wealth, and by cultivation cause the fallow 
fields and arid deserts of the common people 
to give up a full harvest for the world’s soul- 
food ? 

Helen and I had a real lovers’ parting at 
the end of the season, when she and her 
mother moved away ; but we wrote fre- 
quently, and some of those letters I treasure 
still. When I read them over now, I marvel 
at their universal insight. One, of the early 
summer the year after, contains those beau- 
tiful lines from Lowell’s ‘‘ Vision of Sir 
Launfal,” — familiar enough now, but not so 
well known then : 

“ What is so rare as a day in June ? 

Then, if ever, come perfect days ; 


58 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune, 

And over it softly her warm ear lays : . . . 
Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how ; 

Everything is upward striving ; 

’Tis as easy now for the heart to be true 
As for grass to be green or skies to be blue, — 
’Tis the natural way of living.” 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 59 


15 

“ Look, then, into thine heart, and write 1 
Yes, into life’s deep stream 1 ” 

I WAS to go away to school. I was 
eighteen, and father had consented at last 
to one term in Fieldsboro’ Institute. In 
strict truth, I felt one term away at school 
would revolutionize my whole mental and 
moral fiber. ‘‘ Away at school ” was a far- 
reaching phrase, — magic was in those brick 
walls that I had gazed on so often with awe 
and longing. 

When I walked up the gravel-path, and 
entered the office to meet Dr. Raymond, 
there were traces of tears on my cheeks. 
Mrs. Raymond came to take me to my room, 
where I found another girl to share it. I was 
afraid my room-mate might be a “stuck-up 


6o WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


city girl,” therefore I was glad that Emma 
Woodruff was a modest country product, like 
unto myself. 

We both were bashful, but we grew tired 
of sitting there looking at each other ; so, 
before the bell rang for dinner, we had told 
each other where we came from, had learned 
we were of the same age, that both had 
taught school, and were to study the same 
courses. 

The bell rang. We started up, and timidly 
made for the dining-room. I was glad we 
were the first to appear on the scene, though 
I wondered why the others seemed so lacking 
in promptness. I had not learned that a 
boarding-school dining-room is not unlike a 
church in this respect : the “ quality ” place 
great value on being tardy. Indeed, in many 
instances, I believe tardiness is supposed to 
represent the only great quality of said 
‘‘ quality.” 

When we had waited some time, I vent- 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 6i 


ured to remark that perhaps there was a 
mistake. We were hesitating over the mat- 
ter, when two older students entered, chat- 
ting gaily about vacation experiences, with 
the air of assurance characteristic of the 
** drummer.” 

In flocked more students; also the digni- 
fied faculty. All took seats at the eight 
tables, and dinner progressed. I had never 
eaten in a public place before, and it all daz- 
zled me. I was glad of the clatter of the 
dishes and the confident talk of the students 
around me. I watched to see how others 
did. I was afraid to swallow for fear of 
choking. I thought that, in spite of myself, 
I was shouting at the top of my voice, ‘‘ I’m 
from the country,” and that every eye was 
riveted upon me. When I looked about I 
was surprised to see how unheeding they 
were. How could they be so indifferent ? 
I was thankful when the torture of that first 
dinner was over and Emma and I were sitting 


62 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


in our room again, looking at each other. 
She didn’t awe me so much now, for she was 
countrified too, and most of the other girls, 
I observed, were town-cut.” I was both 
glad and sorry that they had put me in with 
country Emma. 

It was not long before things began to grow 
familiar, and I saw that even a dignified pro- 
fessor might be made of very common mud, 
tempted in all points like myself, and not 
without blame. 

One day a girl I had much admired said, 
“ I did not think, that first day, I should like 
you, but I do.” When asked her reason for 
doubt, she replied, “Why, I took you for 
one of those aristocrats.” 

It was compensation to find 

“ They’s just as skart of me 
As I was skart of them.” 

School-days passed quickly, and all too 
soon I was to go back home. Many, even 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 63 


most, of the girls were to return and at- 
tend until they graduated. How I wanted 
to stay! In Dr. Raymond’s science classes 
I had caught glimpses into the vastness of 
even the material universe, and I wanted to 
go on. I knew how dull and tame the farm 
would seem ; but I must obey and go back 
where Nature had, eighteen years before, 
called me forth into objective manifestation. 
No books, no congenial companions, no rail- 
road within nine miles, — nothing but dis- 
organized household drudgery. Talk about 
Siberia ! 

I do not think all country homes are as 
cheerless as was my own. Indeed, I have 
seen comfort and happiness in snow-bound 
lands. It was not the isolation from civil- 
ization’s centers, and the hard work, that 
made the place so desolate. It was the 
lack of love and sympathy that chilled me. 
I wanted just the least fraternal demonstra- 
tion, with words of sympathy and encourage- 


64 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


merit about my future — and this was de- 
nied me. 

But the time was near when I was to 
hear words of love spoken in my ear — hot, 
passionate words, that burn, and blister, and 
wither. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 65 


16 

“ Hear our heavenly promise 
Through your mortal passion ! 

Love ye shall have from us 
In a pure relation.” 

W E were to have a railroad, and great 
excitement prevailed ! Hiram Brown 
first brought the news from Fields- 
boro’. Amos Whelpley and Frank Wilcox 
said they had several times noticed business- 
looking fellows riding about in livery rigs. 
Finally, it was a confirmed fact. 

Silas Slocum, who owned the most unpro- 
ductive piece of terra finna about, said he 
had no doubt now regarding the future pros- 
perity of the village and the natural increase 
in land-values. Eph Gillett declared he was 
“ goin* to hold on ” to his farm a little longer, 
as he expected next they would discover oil 


66 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


or coal in some of the rocky hills. My father 
had little to say, but looked the significant 
look he always wore when things were coming 
his way. 

One winter evening, late, a tall gentleman, 
muffled in a fur coat, called at the door. 
Could he and a friend have lodging for a day 
or two ? They were the contractors, putting 
through the new railroad. 

They would pay well, and so they were 
accommodated. We spread before them 
plenty of wholesome farmer fare, melted the 
frost from the windows in the front room 
with a crackling wood-fire, and gave them a 
small bed-room adjoining, with the great soft 
bed of geese - feathers covered by mother's 
celebrated <Hog cabin” quilt. 

The whole household was awed by the 
presence of these sophisticated men of the 
world, with their air of business and confi- 
dence. The boys carefully groomed the tired 
horses, and even father grew gracious and 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 67 


loquacious over the ten dollars handed him 
the morning after their arrival. The gold on 
the front-room table, guarded by two revolv- 
ers, added gravity to the situation. They 
spent several hours that day arranging in 
envelopes this money intended to be given as 
wages to the men who were constructing the 
road. 

Mother was fully up to the occasion, keep- 
ing her ear “ cocked for coons,” as Uncle Eb 
says. I assisted in dinner preparation, and 
waited on the table, very timidly. I remem- 
ber I blushed when I saw the eyes of the 
Colonel looking at me adm’iringly. They 
were amused at my diffidence, and I arose to 
the dignity of my position. 

When the meal was over they tried to open 
conversation with me. 

“ Who reads Shakespeare here. Miss 
Mabel? — not a little minx like you!” 

Before I could answer, mother responded : 
“ Yes, she does ; she’s always been crazy to 


68 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


read and to go away to school. She’s smart 
enough, if I do say it ; but her father thinks 
girls don’t need much book-learning.” 

Mother’s intended compliment embarrassed 
me greatly. I was afraid to talk with these 
men, but I somehow thought I could appear 
at least fairly well if she would only hold her 
tongue. I was not quite sure what their 
attitude really was ; I knew they must see 
that I was green, but I would not be foolish. 

The tall Colonel came to my side, his 
manner and tone that which a man uses 
toward a woman when he first becomes inter- 
ested in her. 

Miss Mabel, my friend here, Mr. Ross, is 
a young fellow fresh from college, and we 
have greatly enjoyed looking over the marked 
passages in your Shakespeare. If we return 
to-night, will you give us the pleasure of 
your company? We can spend the time 
singing and talking, and thus become better 
acquainted.” 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 69 


As he spoke, I felt as if every drop of 
blood in my body was suffusing my face and 
neck, but I answered, with the sang-froid of 
an adept, “ Thank you ; I shall be pleased.’' 

Do you suppose, Arthur, the woman ever 
lived who could not tell exactly how I felt 
when mother and I were alone that afternoon, 
in busy preparation for the evening ? We all 
are made of about the same mud, poke and 
puggle in it as we will. Mother was in her 
element, baking, brewing, and talking ex- 
citedly. I ventured to suggest that she give 
people a chance to form their own opinions. 
If her daughter was so very smart, they 
would probably find it out. 

“Well,” she said, “Pa and I have spent 
almost a hundred dollars on you, with two 
terms of music-lessons and going away to 
Fieldsboro’, to say nothing of the boys ; and 
I ain’t going to have them think we can’t 
read Shakespeare or anybody else just as well 
as they can.” 


70 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


I saw it was no use, for mother was on the 
war-path. The old iron tea-kettle cover gave 
forth a shrill metallic warning when she swung 
it into place. 

For some reason known only to my mother, 
the best polka-dot linen did service that even- 
ing, and the table fairly groaned with good 
things. The Colonel asked to have the honor 
of eating with the waitress ; accordingly, I 
was seated by his side at the table. All the 
delicate courtesy and attention a polished con- 
ventional man can give to an admired woman 
was bestowed upon my poor diffident person- 
ality. I was both gratified and embarrassed. 
When supper was nearly over, mother ap- 
peared upon the scene bearing a mammoth 
mince pie, and saying, in her blandest tone : 

don’t s’pose it’s style to have pie for 
supper, but I want you to eat this to sample 
my new batch of mince-meat.” 

Father never let pie ‘‘go begging,” and 
our guests both signified their willingness to 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 71 


test the quality of the mince-meat ; so, for the 
time, mother subsided with satisfaction. 

We soon adjourned to the front room. I 
was asked to sing some old ballads, and com- 
plied, choosing Annie Laurie” and “Sweet 
Aft on.” There was a sweet, natural pathos 
in my voice that appeared to please them 
greatly. They called for “ Bonnie Boon ” 
and “Auld Lang Syne,” the Colonel enthusi- 
astically joining in turns and snatches. The 
evening passed pleasantly. 

Our guests prepared to leave us, the follow- 
ing morning, with many expressions of grat- 
itude, saying we should surely see them 
again. 


72 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


17 

“ It seems as if heaven had sent its insane angels into 
our world, as to an asylum, and here they will break out 
into their native music, and utter, at intervals, the words 
they have heard in Heaven. Then the mad fit returns 
and they mope and wallow like dogs.” 

C ARLYLE makes Herr Teufelsdrockh 
call man a straddling biped without 
feathers. The two who had created 
such commotion among us had gone, but we 
talked of them often, telling over every little 
detail of that two days* association. The 
boys spoke of the tall, strong livery horses, 
in jockey parlance, as being high-steppers ” 
and “up on the bit.” Father said it was 
worth all they paid to clean up the rig, robes 
and all, after such hard driving, adding, “I 
wouldn’t want them to drive a horse of mine. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 73 


That off horse is knee-sprung already, and 
the nigh one won’t be sound long.” 

Mother did not attempt to shine in the 
horse-talk, more than to say she guessed a 
horse more or less didn’t amount to much to 
men who built railroads ; but she dug up the 
Shakespearean hatchet from time to time, 
telling how she gave them to understand they 
were dealing with no low white trash when 
they slept in her real geese-feather bed, and 
ate on her best polka-dot linen. 

Two weeks passed before Colonel Fuller 
returned, bringing with him Mr. Griswold, 
the civil-engineer. 

“ This is the little girl I have been telling 
you about,” said the Colonel, greeting me 
cordially and leading me to his friend. 

‘‘So, Miss Mabel, I am told you are a 
student of the great dramatist, and a singer 
of Scotch ballads. You aren’t a hypnotist 
also, are you? Friend Fuller seems to 
have bats lately, and his mind runs along 


74 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 

the line of Scotch ballads and poetical quo- 
tations.” 

Their deportment was so easy and gracious 
that I began to feel less uncomfortable than 
formerly, though I colored deeply when the 
conversation took a personal turn. 

Supper-time gave mother the opportunity 
of working off much superfluous energy. I 
felt safe when I saw her attention focused on 
blackberry pickles, head cheese, and fried 
cakes, over against family pedigree, poetry, 
and philosophy. The evening was spent in 
general conversation. I produced my auto- 
graph album, autographs being a great fad at 
that time among young people. It contained 
many typical album verses, — such, for in- 
stance, as the following ; 

“ If you love me as I love you, 

No knife can cut our love in two.” 


At my request, both gentlemen wrote. 
The Colonel’s words were these : 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 75 

“ Blessed are the pure in heart.” 


His companion wrote : 

“ Dear Mabel : the world has nothing brighter or dearer 
to give than home, sweet home, — the one you have.” 

Arthur, are we not all Dr. Jekylls and Mr. 
Hydes, in some degree ? What rational be- 
ing dare have other feeling for poor deluded 
humans, like himself, than compassion } Who 
are we who judge? ’Twas one wise who 
said, ‘‘There is none good but one, that is, 
God.” 

Do up the good and evil of the world into 
parcels, then label them carefully, and I will 
speak flippantly of what you handle. But 
you have told me, Arthur, that sin rests in 
the motive. I’ll grow modest. I am finite, 
and only Infinitude has insight to grasp the 
secret springs of motive. Deeper still lie the 
mystic mazes of heredity and environment. 
If so-called “ruin” had come to me that 
night, and through all the heavy years I 


76 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


had suffered even more, whom should I 
blame ? Leave judgment to Him who alone 
knows the law.” 

The family were preparing to retire for 
the night, when Colonel Fuller said to me, 
** Mabel, will you sit with me a moment ? I 
have brought a little book for you, and we 
can look it over better together with no one 
to disturb us.” 

** A book for me ? ” How anxious I was 
to see it ! and how kind he was ! When we 
were alone, he produced a beautiful copy of 
Mrs. Browning’s poems. I sparkled with 
animation a moment, and then — he had 
caught me in his arms, with the whisper ; 

“ Mabel, I love you ! I love you ! Give 
yourself to me this night. Here, now, un- 
reservedly, yield yourself. You are not 
afraid of me. You must, you shall ! I love 
you so tenderly. I have money. You shall 
go to school — to Europe — where you will. 
Only be mine ! mine ! ” 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 77 


His hot breath was upon me. 

And this was love — at last ! Was this 
the thing I had wanted? 

I was dazed a moment, — then shame 
came, and I fled from the man wildly. What 
a fool I had been to think he really cared for 
me ! Doubtless they had been laughing at 
me all the time. Oh ! horrible thought ! I 
knew it must be so ; and, for relief, I cried. 
My mother’s blood boiled within me. They 
should not speak to me again, I thought. 
That was pride. ’Twould ruin my life, said 
fear. Then something said, ‘‘What would it 
matter ? What would one have, anyway ? 
If I could only go to school ! ” 

My dear Arthur, the world would want me 
to talk here of maidenly purity and goody- 
goodness. But I must be truthful with you. 
It was later that I analyzed deep enough to 
recognize the real spiritual quality in acts — 
when I did what I thought was right for 
right’s sake ; but I claim now it was fear 


78 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


and pride that held me within convention's 
borders that night. 

A man is on his way to the gallows. The 
rabble are curious. Boys are shouting and 
deriding. So did the mob nineteen hundred 
years ago. Men like John Wesley stand with 
uncovered heads, and say, in reverent tones : 
‘‘Except for the grace of God, there goes 
John Wesley.” 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 79 


18 

“ Unless you can think, when the song is done, 

No other is soft in the rhythm ; 

Unless you can fear, when left by one. 

That everything else goes with him ; 

Unless you can know, when unpraised by his breath, 
That your beauty itself wants provifig; 

Unless you can swear ‘ For life — for death ! ’ 

Oh, fear to call it loving.” 


N aturally, I was embarrassed when 
I met the Colonel the next morning. 
He also was ill at ease when he greeted 
me. His manner was no longer genial, but 
business-like and serious. 

I was glad that mother kept me busy 
assisting with the work in the pantry ; for, 
the day being cold and stormy, no one vent- 
ured forth. 

I was peeling apples for mother’s pies 


8o WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


when, taking advantage of her absence, 
Colonel Fuller appeared in the doorway. 

Mabel, I am afraid to approach you after 
last night’s scene ; but I can’t wait longer to 
ask your forgiveness. Give me another trial, 
and I will never abuse your confidence 
again.” 

Mother appeared before I could answer. 

“My good woman,” he said, laying his 
hand upon mother’s arm, “will you trust 
me with your daughter ? I esteem her 
most highly, and may all the fiends of 
Hades combine against me if I bring her 
to harm.” 

Tears sprang to his eyes. We both knew 
the man’s better nature spoke truthfully. 
Mother herself was quite subdued. 

“ I have always taught my children to do 
right, and I ain’t afraid to trust either one of 
you,” she said. 

Colonel Fuller was a changed man from 
the moment. I talked with him. I read 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 8i 


and sang with him. I rode out alone with 
him. I believed, as he declared, that a higher 
and better love had taken in him the place of 
the passionate infatuation which often, for 
many, brings sorrow. 

We think we know, Arthur, something 
about the Saint Paul love, which seeketh 
not its own, vaunteth not itself, doth not 
behave itself unseemly. The spurious article 
often resembles the genuine so closely that 
it takes a connoisseur to discern the dif- 
ference. It has been said, Love and lie, 
your love is curable.” One might add : Love, 
and seek your own gratification at the ex- 
pense of the object loved, — your love is very 
curable. 

Colonel Fuller gave me many moments of 
pleasure that winter, and it was with sincere 
regret that, at the completion of the railroad, 
we finally parted. It was his wish that I 
give up school, and give myself into his keep- 
ing for life ; but I could not bring myself to 


82 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


love^the man better than I loved my great 
hope, and so we parted. 

“ Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in 
passing, 

Only a signal shown, and a distant voice in the 
darkness.” 


J 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 83 


19 

“ Nothing’s small — no lily-muffled hum of summer bee 
But finds some coupling with the shining stars.” 

A nother term of school-teaching, and 
another term at Fieldsboro’, brought 
me home again for the winter. Books 
were growing to be more a feature in the 
home life, — father still distrustful of made 
up stuff,’' but offering no serious objection. 

We had a literary society, and several 
weeks of protracted or ‘‘ revival ” meetings, 
during the winter months. The latter were 
conducted by ignorant, if earnest, country 
preachers or exhort ers, and usually resulted 
in more harm than help to the community. 

The literary society was typical in charac- 
ter, and furnished much amusement for the 
country people around about. Rustics old 


84 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


and young took part with marked solemnity 
in debating questions of large import. I 
recall some of the debates distinctly : 

“ Question : Resolved, that Webster was a 
greater man than Napoleon.” 

Question: Resolved, that fire has done 
more damage than water.” 

“ Question : Resolved, that woman has a 
harder life than man.” 

Just what was meant by “harder,” in the 
last instance, is in doubt. However, I have 
a ticket for next Saturday’s Grand Opera 
which I would be glad to exchange for an 
opportunity of being present again at one of 
those old literary-society debates. 

A marked feature of the gatherings was 
the “ literary paper,” prepared and read 
weekly, containing personal mention, scraps 
of original poetry, and so forth. 

Our local school had now grown tb some 
proportions. A new school building had been 
erected, and three teachers were employed 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 85 


instead of one. The “ principal,” as he was 
called, was quite a personage among the 
people, especially among the girl element. 
We were to have a new principal, and the 
gossips were busy. There was talk of 
“ prodigality,” and of an “ unfinished college 
course.” But the world rolled on, making 
history, — big events, — little events, — all 
history. 

The man came, and I met him. 

Some one asks. If the dog had barked 
that Elizabeth Barrett carried in her arms 
the day when she eloped with her soul’s 
mate, what would have been the effect upon 
English literature .? I hold in my hand a 
gladiolus bulb, — a rough, unsightly thing; 
yet all the potentialities of its marvelous 
future evolution are here, — roots, stems, 
leaves, flowers. 

I think a thought, and the sensitive blood 
is tell-tale in my suffused or pallid face. 
Scientists tell of a man killed by a thought ; 


86 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


and yet a million thoughts do not crowd the 
area of a needle’s point. 

When I called at the post-office for the 
mail one day, I found Emma Stone, an old 
schoolmate, who had come to spend a week 
at home. 

“We ought to visit the school, and meet 
the new teacher,” she said, as I was leaving; 
and so arrangements were made. 

There were three of us, including Effie 
Chandler, gathered in the school-house entry. 
Confident Emma Stone raps, and, when the 
principal responds, she asks for Lizzie Davis, 
one of the largest girls. Lizzie comes out, 
we whisper and simper a moment, as girls do 
sometimes, and then march in proudly, with 
very self-conscious decorum. 

We were seated with Lizzie, on the back 
seat. The classes filed out for recitation. 

“Katy, you may bound France, and give 
its capital.” 

Katy, having been selected as the brightest 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 87 


girl in the class, bounds very glibly the land 
of fashions : 

‘‘ France is bounded on the north by the 
English channel, on the west by the Atlantic 
ocean, on the south by Spain and the Med- 
iterranean sea, and on the east by Germany, 
Italy, and Belgium. The capital is Paris, on 
the Seine.’* 

“Very good,” says the teacher. “John, 
you may bound Spain, and give its capital.” 

John “ bounds ” rather awkwardly, being 
usually more dull, at the same age, than his 
girl-classmate. 

“Spain is bounded on the north by the 
Bay of Biscay and France ; on the west by 
the Atlantic ocean and Portugal ; on the 
south by the Atlantic ocean and the Med- 
iterranean sea ; on the east by the Mediterra- 
nean sea.” 

John blushes deeply — he cannot remem- 
ber the capital. Up come half-a-dozen hands 
of rivals, who hope to “ show off.” 


88 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


“ Class, what is it ? ” says the teacher. 

Madrid ! ” answers a chorus of voices. 

The teacher goes on through the dull 
routine of teaching the young idea how to 
shoot, which, at that time, meant stuffing all 
you could into the mind without an attempt 
to draw anything out. 

Froebel, grand old man ! What a race- 
benefactor ! And still, Arthur, we give to 
such pioneers as he a dinner of husks and a 
bed of straw, — so busy are we feeding and 
“ sleeping ” a few hundred epicurean para- 
sites. 

“ Desks in order ! ” says the tired teacher ; 
and a rattle and scramble ensue to bring 
order out of chaos. 

“Arms folded” — a death-like hush falls 
over the room, broken only by a “ hem ! ” or 
“ haw 1 ” from some pert pupil. 

“ School stand, — excused.” And out file 
two score or more of America’s future 
fathers, mothers, lawyers, doctors, farmers, 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 89 


teachers, robbers, preachers, artists, builders, 
workers, — men, women. 

If you have a trotter, you visit the stable 
often, feel of its limbs, ask of its yesterday’s 
record, have an eye on the trainer. If you 
have a child, don’t visit the teacher, don’t 
look to its record, or care if its environment 
be wholesome. Why should you ! It is only 
a child, and its name isn’t down on the stock- 
book. 

School over, we are duly introduced to the 
principal. We talk of schools in general and 
of this one in particular. When parting-time 
comes, we find refuge in perfunctory remarks : 

I have enjoyed my call very much.” 

** Thank you, I shall be pleased to see you 
again.” 

“ My brother is home now, and we shall be 
glad to have you call.” 

** Thank you, I shall do so with pleasure.” 

« Good afternoon.” 

“ Good afternoon.” 


90 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


How indifferently, Arthur, I walked home 
that night, ‘‘ cross lots,’* in the snow-path of 
my junior brother, who attended the school. 
How could I know that there were years of 
association before me with this quiet man of 
the school-room ? — years when I helped him 
with a strength no other could give, then 
years of my own weakness, when he stood by 
my side and repaid me ; — years when both 
body and soul were struggling for poise in 
existence. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


91 


20 

“No, by Allah 1 she believed in me when none else 
would believe.” 

T he principal called within a week, — 
called frequently. Two months passed 
thus, and then he told me the old, old 
story that Drummond says began with the 
elective affinity of two differing cells. 

We had been reading “The Dream of the 
Hunter,” when he took my hand, saying 
seriously : 

“ Why did I not meet you before ? Mabel, 
I love you ! ” 

Then followed confessions, even as Angel 
Clare confessed to Tess, of what had been but 
should not be again. Isn’t this the impulse, 
Arthur, which every honest man feels, coming 
before the woman he loves, knowing her purity. 


92 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


and regretting a past that makes him not quite 
her equal ? True love would give even more 
than it receives. Young men do not think 
of these things when they form some unholy 
alliance. Later, when the real love-touch 
comes, the scales drop from their eyes. 

*‘’Twas all so unsatisfactory. But, little 
sister,” he continued, “ I can amend and 
achieve, since I have this great love to help 
me.” 

I answered quickly, “ I took you for my 
brother from the first. I trust you. Just 
bring me results, while I work out my own.” 

I resumed my studies at once, and my 
friend left for a western city. The parting 
word was : 

All things come to those who wait.” 

“ And work,” he added, smiling. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 93 


2 I 

“ Our spirits have climbed high 
By reason of the passion of our grief, 

And from the top of sense looked over sense, 

To the significance and heart of all things. 

Rather than things themselves.” 

I HAD met a widow, a literary character of 
Fieldsboro’, who, needing companionship, 
had made me the gracious offer of room- 
ing in her home without charge. Nine terms 
were required for ‘^graduation.” I had at- 
tended two. I interested father in the sit- 
uation. The small expense necessary recom- 
mended itself to his practical mind, and, with 
little opposition, I won my case. 

To be sure, girls didn’t need much educa- 
tion, but if I could make it inexpensive ’twas 
at least no harm. 

“ Well, go ahead,” he said. “ I suppose 


94 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


you’ll never be contented till you reach the 
end of the rope.” 

To do my father justice, I must say that 
he greatly rejoiced in each and every one of 
my successes. But they were being pur- 
chased at the price of blood, though no one 
knew it but myself. 

Foolish girl ! I had dreamed of standing 
some day on the very topmost round of the 
ladder of knowledge, and here was Com- 
mencement Day, at the Seminary, finding 
me dizzy on the first round. 

It was a pale, tired girl who walked to the 
footlights that night to read her graduating 
essay, entitled “The Glamour of Fiction.” 
Even yet I recall the closing words : 

“ The world will be cold indeed if it does 
not reckon among its great ones such martyrs 
as missed the palm but not the pains of mar- 
tyrdom. Heroes without laurels, and victors 
without the jubilation of triumph.” 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 95 


I remember, too, how the white ribbon that 
decorated my soft mull dress trembled with 
each heart-throb, as if it also had felt the 
strain and was asking for rest. 

It was the June time, and Cousin Carrie 
had come again for a vacation among the 
country friends. I saw her fine, classic face 
smiling at me in that strange Commencement 
throng, but tears were sparkling in her eyes. 
She, among all before me, knew my thought 
that day. No word had passed between us, 
but her nature was intuitive, and she remem- 
bered my words. The struggle, the cost, — 
she felt it all. 

There was something akin to sorrow with 
me that day — 

“ A something too vague, could I name it, for others to 
know.” 

Deep-sounding thought-currents were surging 
through the brain-substance of one ** sweet 
girl-graduate,” as she quietly sat there, so 


96 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


worn at twenty, overlooking the crowded 
chapel. An ex-governor, with other digni- 
taries, was seated on the platform ; but they 
all seemed pygmies ; — men, great men, 
schools, cities, nations ; — the earth itself 
only God’s footstool. I could easily toss it 
into space ! 

As a little girl, I had thought to gain 
knowledge in some of the schools men had 
reared on this little ball, one-fourth land and 
three-fourths water. I gathered up my books 
and flowers and went forward to receive 
congratulations among the rest ; but I felt, 
Arthur, as Lyndall did, and as all must feel 
sometime : I didn’t want schools, nor men, 
nor the things men work for; I just wanted 
something great and good and pure to lift me 
to itself. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 97 


2 2 

“ But who could have expected this, 

When we two drew together first 
Just for the obvious human bliss, 

To satisfy life’s daily thirst 
With a thing men seldom miss ? 

“ So earth has gained by one man more, 

And the gain of earth must be heaven’s gain, too, 
And the whole is well worth thinking o’er. 

When autumn comes ; which I mean to do 
One day, as I said before.” 

M y father, quite as ignorant as myself, 
expected great things of me now, and 
I must go out and contend — offer my 
mental wares in the world’s great marts. I 
must squeeze my drop of juice from the 
World Orange. Out there a million hands 
were squeezing frantically — a million mouths 
were sucking eagerly. 

Arthur, can you understand how I changed 


98 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


from girl to woman during those next two 
years, learning what competition — unequal 
competition — means ? These human an- 
imals were not satisfied when appetites were 
satiated ; but I could see them, surfeiting and 
drunken with earth’s choicest elixirs, push 
back even baby mouths that pressed rich 
Nature’s juice -expanded sides — the World 
Orange meant for all — to get their share 
of sap. 

My friend had entered upon the study of 
medicine poor, and I learned to realize more 
and more the struggle he was making, away 
in that distant city. Handclasps by letter, 
and encouraging words, passed between us 
often. 

Only once did I feel that a brave soul, 
through stress and strain, was halting: 

“ Mabel,” he wrote, “you are the only one 
who can help me ; but I must not be selfish. 
My most blessed thought is that, if I fail, I 
leave you free and pure as when I found you.” 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


99 


It was an April day when he came back, 
handing me the bit of parchment that meant 
so little and yet so much to him. 

It is yours, Mabel,” he said ; “ I never 
could have gone through without friends or 
wealth, had it not been for you.” 

When we were alone he spoke of victories 
quite as important, to my mind, as taking the 
highest honors in his class : 

“ I have done what I could to amend and 
achieve,” he said. “ I am more than repaid, 
little sister, even should I miss the crowning 
joy.” 

A week we wandered about the old familiar 
haunts of the farm, often lingering in a 
sunny, quiet corner with a book, and liv- 
ing again among old friends. Too soon he 
turned and said to me, in his simple, earnest 
way : 

Little comrade, I must leave you soon. 
Do we not need each other ? ” 

A moment I waited before I ventured : 


LOFC, 


lOo WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


You always understand. Yes, I think we 
need each other.” 

A long time we sat there on the old rock 
in the orchard, where, when a little girl, I had 
played “ Come visiting ” with the children. 

We were subdued in our happiness. We 
made our plans, talking, with the beauty of 
perfect frankness, of the home to be, of the 
need of economy, and of other and more 
sacred themes. 

“ Oh, Mabel, God’s universe must be good. 
This love teaches me as much.” 

Words were not necessary longer. Each 
felt that the other understood. The hour 
was full of prayer. It was quite dark when 
he broke the silence : 

** Could a man ever descend again, after an 
hour like this ? I see it all ! ” 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? loi 


23 

“The future stands 
Before me, like a wall of adamant 
I cannot climb.” 

I NEVER see a poor young “ Med.” but my 
heart swells with pity. Current exams.” 
and all are but a glimmering foretaste 
of trials yet to be. Medical men on 
every comer, — yet he must “locate.” He 
“ locates,” and the battle is on. Then he 
waits for that first case that might come 
stealing in on him at any moment. 

Why doesn^t the telephone ring ? It looks 
at him mockingly. Nobody thinks of the 
telephone except the man who sends in the 
bill for the quarter’s service. If he has a 
wife, he can leave the poor thing to watch, 
while he bustles off hoping to give the im- 
pression of urgent business. He isn’t guilty, 


102 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


but he comes to feel cheap and shame-faced. 
He sees the older physicians go hurrying past 
with the imposing air of responsibility. 

Somebody has a sick baby. All the neigh- 
boring mothers are in consultation. 

** Mercy ! ” says one, — ** don’t send for 
that young doctor ; what does he know about 
babies ? ” 

A lady is in need of medical advice. Her 
husband says : 

“The older physicians don’t seem to hit 
your case ; why not try that new man ? ” 

“ Oh ! goodness sakes ! you don’t suppose 
I’m going to have that green fellow, do 
you ? ” 

When the older practitioners are all ‘‘ out,” 
if some one happens to break a leg, or a child 
falls out of a second-story window, they will 
be glad of the new man ! He can also count 
on all the “ dead beats.” 

Thus in time he will get before the people, 
if he has patience to wait for patients. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 103 


24 

First, God’s love.’ 

‘And next,’ he smiled, ‘ the love of wedded souls.’ ” 


I N June the man of God said the conven- 
tional words over us, and we launched our 
ship on the matrimonial sea. We were to 
“ locate ” in a country town of Pennsylvania, 
with ten dollars in pocket, a horse and car- 
riage, eight or ten medical books, some simple 
doctor’s apparatus, and ;^iooo in college 
debts — the biggest thing we carried. 

We found three rooms with an old couple, 
on Main street, and hung up a modest sign. 
One room must be given up for the office ; 
the other large room did service as kitchen, 
dining-room, and parlor. 

Callers, not patients, came early, as they 
always do in country places. Sumptuous 


104 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


young women, and be-silked, be-frizzled, and 
bonneted matronly dames. They were curi- 
ous, I suppose, to see the new doctor and his 
wife. I grew to know just how the chat 
would run, and had my answers all ready. 

** How do you like our little village ? ” 

** Does your husband get much to do, 
yet?” 

“Oh yes, there’s sights of sickness in 
town.” 

“They say Dr. Johnson is busy night and 
day.” 

“ What church do you attend ? Oh, not a 
member ? We should be pleased to have you 
make your church home with us ” — and they 
mentioned one or other of the hundred and 
fifty odd Christian sects, as the case might 
be. 

I was usually glad when the ordeal was 
over, for its perfunctoriness was a trial to 
one of my natural spontaneity. 

How well I remember the first real profes- 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 105 


sional call ! It came in the night. A mes- 
senger in haste said breathlessly : 

‘‘ This the doctor ? Come to Mr. Bray- 
ton’s, opposite the Presbyterian church, 
quick ! ” 

In the excitement that followed I dropped 
the watch from the doctor’s vest which I was 
holding ready, and broke the crystal. 

He finally departed in safety. If you 
think, Arthur, that I rested, those two hours 
of his absence, you have never been the 
assistant of a young physician and helped 
him attend his first case ! 

Selfish, wicked girl ! My first question, on 
his return, was not as to the welfare of the 
poor patient, but, “ Do you think they liked 
you ? ” 

This brought a smile. 

« Well, I really cannot say, dear ; but the 
poor man is better,” he answered cheerfully. 

I cannot leave this part of my story with- 


io6 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


out mention of dear old Aunt Sarah Silver- 
ing. She had married a prosperous widower, 
who had four children whom she mothered 
and sent out of the home nest before her 
own little Sadie came. Aunt Sarah was a 
new edition of Samantha Allen, printed in 
italics. When her husband lost his property 
by “ signing ” with the boys, and became an 
invalid on her hands, she bought a pony and 
phaeton, and scoured the country up and 
down selling bosom -boards to maintain the 
family. 

Dear old heart ! I can see her now, as she 
came puffing up the back lane that hot sum- 
mer afternoon to call upon the new doctor 
and his wife. She wore her usual afternoon 
white apron, and carried, besides her two 
hundred pounds avoirdupois, an elderberry 
pie in one hand, and in the other a mammoth 
sun-umbrella. I was sitting on the front 
porch when she turned in at the gate, per- 
spiration standing in drops on her smiling 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 107 

old face. Her first words made me feel at 
home : 

“ I’m Aunt Sarah Silvering. I baked pies 
this morning and thought mebbe you’d like 
to try one. Well, how d’ye do, anyway ? ” 
she said, taking the seat I offered, as with 
thanks I relieved her of the fat, juicy dys- 
pepsia-producer. 

“ Bless me, but it’s hot ! Guess I hain’t 
cooled off yet from baking,” she panted. 

I brought forth a huge “Jap” fan, which 
she waved vigorously while she continued : 

“ Does things seem to be home-like to ye, 
yet ? When I married Pap we went to Glen- 
ville to live. I thought I never’d get used 
to folks and things there, but I did, and it’ll 
be just the same with you.” 

I told her I found the place delightful and 
hoped to enjoy my new home very much. 

“Well,” said Aunt Sarah, “there’s two 
women I always pity, — it’s the doctor’s wife 
and the minister’s wife. But don’t ye ever 


io8 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


get discouraged. The doctors here are get- 
tin’ old, and we need some new ones. Mr. 
Brayton’s folks liked your man splendid.” 

I said, calmly, I was very glad to hear it, 
but my heart was bounding for joy. 

“Ye’ll hear lots of things to hurt ye, so 
I’m goin’ to tell ye about our son Jim. He 
owns one of the biggest houses in Jonesboro’ 
now, and has all he can do, but he had up-hill 
work starting. One day I was goin’ over in 
the ’bus to see ’em, soon after they settled. 
I heard two women talkin’ ’bout someone who 
was sick. One said, ‘Well, he’ll die sure no^v, 
for they’ve gone and got that green doctor, Jim 
Silvering. Why, he don’t amount to a hill of 
beans. Sam used to know his father when 
Jim was a boy, and they lived down on the 
plank road.’ ” 

We both laughed pleasantly, and, after 
visiting a few moments longer. Aunt Sarah 
said she must be going back or Pap would 
miss her. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 109 


** We’ve got a garden full of stuff. Come 
and see us. Bring a basket and get anything 
you want,” she said, as she joggled off down 
the back lane. 

An hour later, when the doctor came in 
from the drug-store, I burst out joyfully : 

Oh, Aunt Sarah Silvering has been here. 
She said they did like you up at Mr. Bray- 
ton’s. After we pay all the debts, we’ll buy 
a place of our own, and have a garden and 
flowers and everything nice, won’t we, dear ! ” 


no WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


25 


“ Lo, these are parts of His ways : but how little a por- 
tion is heard of Him ? but the thunder of His p)ower who 
can understand ? ” 

T here were five churches in this vil- 
lage, and Churchanity was rampant. 
There were splits and cliques galore, 
each jealous and trying to outdo all the 
others. Every desirable newcomer was 
pounced upon as soon as discovered by these 
church vandals. Young and ignorant, I was 
early seized upon as new plunder. I sang, 
read, wrote, trained children for entertain- 
ments, worked for the heathen, ate church 
oyster-stews, was feasted and fasted. They 
seemed to regard me as public property, and 
I tried to fill the bill. Nevertheless, we were 
very happy. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? iii 


The economy I was obliged to practice 
grew interesting. ’Twas like a game, — see- 
ing how far a dollar would go, and trying to 
create something out of nothing. Colonel 
Ingersoll said that ** nothing ” is pretty poor 
material out of which to construct a universe. 
How do we know ? Things are not always 
what they appear on the surface. Perhaps 
the enthusiasm I experienced over my taste- 
ful little dishes, made from next to nothing, 
was the very God-feeling itself, which finds 
satisfaction and reward in ever working for 
betterment, bringing order out of chaos and 
harmony out of discord. 

We were in a beautiful country. The 
river-like creek spread its lazy length along 
the valley, where fertile farms lay, like up- 
turned faces, waiting to be kissed into full- 
ness by the sun and rain. 

There were rolling hills farther back, and 
quiet wooded drives — welcome in the heated 
days of summer. How we did enjoy those 


1 12 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


rides together ! for we would take that much 
of our inheritance out of the strenuous about 
us, and often stole away, on business or 
otherwise, leaving only a note on the office 
door. 

I recall most interesting rides later, in the 
night-time, when I chose to ride and hold 
horse rather than wait alone and listen for 
burglars. 

One of these rides, I distinctly remember, 
came late in the evening, after a heaven rain. 
There was that delicious odor and coolness 
over everything, which comes after a feverish 
summer day has been bathed and refreshed 
by a thorough thunderstorm. To the home 
of the patient, Mr. Allen, was a distance of 
nearly four miles. Half the way lay through 
beautiful open woods. The moonlight was 
resting soft and shadowy on every object, 
glinting and sparkling from the little pools of 
water that stood in the road. 

Infinitude was with us that night. We 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 113 


left off dusting the **flaunty carpets of the 
world,” and spoke to each other as two souls 
may, riding away in the moonlight and shad- 
ows and silence. 

“ This world’s no blot for us, 

Nor blank ; it means intensely, and means good.” 

“ My God, my God, let me for once look on thee 
As though naught else existed, — we alone 1 ” 


H4 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


26 


“ Men and women, Gods in embryo.” 


M y neighbors grew interesting to me as 
I became better acquainted. Each had 
his or her own peculiar individuality 
and setting. The old couple from whom we 
rented our simple quarters were exceedingly 
kind and considerate. I soon learned that 
everybody in the town, after reaching middle 
life, was known as “Aunt” or “Uncle” 
So-and-so. Aunt Esther and Uncle Henry 
were true penny-pinching Yankees. They 
had retired from their large farm to this 
village home, where they raised their own 
vegetables and kept chickens. 

Aunt Esther was decidedly the head of 
the household, and, though Uncle Henry put 
in a counter claim at odd times and places. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 115 


he was quickly squelched ” by his partner 
of fifty-five years. 

Uncle Henry had not retained the full 
vigorous play of faculties, as had Aunt 
Esther, but had relapsed into that semi- 
boyishness sometimes seen in aged men. He 
doted much upon a harmless affiliation with 
the opposite sex, or ‘‘females,” as he was 
pleased to call them. 

We were scarcely settled in our rooms 
before the dear old man took it upon himself 
to entertain the new doctor and wife. Espe- 
cially he sought to look after the needs of 
the young “ female ” wife. Aunt Esther 
seemed to think the young people would pre- 
fer to look after themselves. Uncle Henry 
would hardly drop his tall spare form into the 
chair I offered, when Aunt Esther, coming 
from the garden, would call out sharply : 

“ Henry, I want some wood split.” 

Uncle Henry would cease smoothing his 
Puritanical locks, and hobble out, saying : 


ii6 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


Mother, there’s heaps of wood split, — 
I want to talk to the doctor’s wife a minute.” 

Aunt Esther would have no mercy, but 
under her breath would say, “ You old goose, 
she don’t want to hear your clack ! Talk to 
me if you’ve got to talk.” 

Occasionally Aunt Esther would don her 
best black merino dress, black fringe shawl, 
and poke bonnet, for a day or two of outing 
at the farm, among old neighbors. When 
she was fairly out of sight. Uncle Henry 
would breathe a sigh of relief, and begin 
high carnival, visiting among the people and 
enjoying himself generally until her return. 

Upon a certain evening of Aunt Esther’s 
absence, he called to me anxiously as I was 
passing the kitchen door : 

Beats Sam Hill what’s become of that 
loaf of bread. I had it sure this noon. 
Mother keeps it in a jar under the shelf,” he 
said as I entered the kitchen and instituted 
a diligent search for the lost loaf. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 117 


The bread-crock being empty, I lifted the 
cover from a neighboring crock, containing 
Aunt Esther’s soft soap, and saw the tip of 
the staff of life heaving above the contents. 
It was a sorry-looking loaf that I drew forth 
for Uncle Henry’s repast. 

“ Yer wouldn’t know it from a side of sole 
leather,” he said ruefully; but I mended the 
matter by taking him to my own table. 

‘‘Don’t tell mother a tarnal word about 
that bread,” he artfully suggested. 

When many weeks had passed, and I knew 
distance made Uncle Henry safe, I told Aunt 
Esther about the bread disaster. 

“ The old fool ! ” was all she said. 

There was busy Mrs. Strong, her husband, 
and two little girls, who lived next door. 
Mrs. Strong was one of those elastic individ- 
uals who never seem to require rest. She 
took boarders, did dressmaking (keeping two 
apprentice-girls busy), sang in one of the 


ii8 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


village choirs, took music-lessons, “ kept house 
spick and span,” dressed her little girls like 
fairies, still having time and energy left to 
keep an eye on a sporty and perverse hus- 
band. Though this woman, it was said, sup- 
ported the house, she was always ready to 
entertain callers, and was always in good 
humor, — better humor, perhaps, than her 
nearest neighbors, who listened to her vocal 
and instrumental practice through the open 
windows of mid-summer after eleven o’clock 
at night. 

Nearly opposite, we had bustling widow 
Snyder, with a family of seven children. 
She had wakened one morning, years before, 
and found her husband in a semi-unconscious 
state from which he never rallied. With a 
small insurance-money she bought a little 
home, — devising ways and means to keep 
her brood together, until they were now 
nearly all grown out of helplessness into 
helpfulness. All this, and more, the good 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 119 


woman told to every stranger, just as she 
told it to me one morning when she came 
over, voluntarily offering to assist me in 
putting up my first basket of pears, which 
Aunt Esther had brought in from the 
farm. 

My, I shall never forget how I felt,” said 
Mrs. Snyder, ** when I put my hand over on 
Sile and found him cold ! 

‘‘We never got along very well,” she con- 
tinued, “though Sile was sober and worked 
all the time. ‘ It’s a poor man for children, 
and a rich man for luck,’ ” she went on, “and 
land knows the sayin’ ’s true enough in our 
case.” 

The spoon moved vigorously around the 
boiling pears in the porcelain kettle, and the 
widow said with a sigh : 

“ Well, I told Sile we’d have all the chil- 
dren the good Lord sent, and I’ve never been 
sorry that I did.” 

She stopped a moment to fan herself with 


120 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


her checked gingham apron, then broke forth 
anew ; 

‘‘Some folks thinks the Lord don’t have 
nothin’ to do with these things, but I guess 
they’ll find out different sometime.” 

By twelve o’clock we had nearly cov- 
ered the kitchen table with pears in every 
conceivable form — canned, preserved, and 
pickled. 

“Just call over, whenever you want any 
help,” said the widow. “ I can come as well 
as not ; Grace and Stella are big enough to 
do all the work,” and off bustled the little 
woman, who, with all her simpleness, had 
kept seven children housed, fed, and clothed 
for nine long years. 

We early made the acquaintance of grandma 
and grandpa Goulding. Aunt Sarah Silvering 
knew grandma’s weakness for doctors and 
medicine, and she told her she ought to try 
the new doctor ; that Pap was all taken up 
with him. Accordingly, grandpa hobbled 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 121 


up after the doctor the next time grandma 
had a ‘‘ spell.” 

These old people from that time on be- 
came a firm fixture in our environment. 
Grandma said to the doctor, “ Send your 
woman down to see me,” and aunt Sarah 
said I must go or grandma would be offended, 
so I went. 

It was certainly amusing to observe this old 
couple. They were, in points, like my own 
grand-folk, only in this case the talk and 
exaggeration rested with grandma, while 
grandpa acted as pigeon-stool and general 
reference-committee. Outside of her pet sub- 
ject — her ills and her medicine — grandma 
loved best to dwell in conversation upon her 
“millionaire brother, B. E. Roberts,” a soap- 
dealer of New York, and on the old family 
cat Tabby. 

When I would enter the house, grandma 
would first recount her aches and pains ; if in 
bed she would shrink away into the pillows 


22 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


and look the very personification of aged 
despair. After the usual words of sympathy, 
it was policy to mention either the cat or her 
brother, when, lo ! what a change ! Grandma 
was a new woman. She had really a hand- 
some New England face, and a straight 
supple body for a woman of advanced age. 
She would struggle not to make the transition 
too abrupt from death’s door back to the 
normal, but usually with futile attempt. 

Oh, Tabby ! My, yes ! you never seen 
the likes of her ! ” 

By this time her old face was beaming. 

“ Father knows ’bout how she goes to the 
cupboard, crosses her paws, and says ‘ Meow,’ 
every time she wants a cold potato.” 

Grandpa’s wizened old face would respond 
with animation, while he chewed away vigor- 
ously on his little pinch of tobacco, never 
venturing a word unless grandma turned to 
him for substantiation. 

Much the same scene would be enacted 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 123 


when mention was made of her wealthy 
brother. 

** Ben ? Oh, yes ! my sakes, he hain’t no 
prouder 'n you be.” 

Then she would tell of her visit to New 
York, and go into every detail, describing 
even the large Percheron horses that drew 
the famous soap-products of the prosperous 
Ben. 

And Ben, — my, yes ! His girls want 
new - fangled things, but Ben always has 
‘ biled ’ dinners, Sundays — he says biled 
dinner ’s good enough for him.” 

Many pleasant calls I had at the home of 
grandma and grandpa Goulding. 


124 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


27 

“ Let one more attest, 

I have lived, seen God’s hand through a life-time, and 
all was for best.” 

W HEN autumn came we took more 
commodious quarters. A new ex- 
perience was before us, and we spoke 
to each other, even as John Halifax did to 
Phineas, with blissful awe. 

A little sail was coming out of the Un- 
known to voyage with us in the present 
Known. Twas said of one, “ The mother’s 
rapture slew her.” Such happy ending I was 
denied. 

My strength was passing — a day of reckon- 
oning was at hand for overdrawn checks on 
vitality. The crisis came, and I lay me down 
prostrate and broken. Days, weeks, I hovered, 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 125 


a second time at the dim border ; then with 
gentlest nursing and tenderest care they 
brought me back to life, but not to health. 

Slowly the fact dawned that I was doomed 
to invalidism for many years, perhaps for life. 
How bitter grew the days ! How unjust it 
all seemed ! So young, so happy we had 
been ; I could not understand. I will endure 
all pain, poverty, or disappointment, I cried, 
only this one bliss I can’t surrender. Does 
God make motherhood to mock it ? There is 
no God ! The universe is indeed a charnel- 
house where fiends hold revel. 

I was not the first child to rebel against 
the discipline of the higher grade. 

“ Alas, long-suffering and most patient God, 

Thou need’st be surelier God to bear with us 
Than ever to have made us.” 


Arthur, I had never been called stupid in 
the seminary days, but I took long time learn- 
ing my lesson in the higher school. The 


126 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


light commenced to break first when I went 
out to succor others, forgetful of my heart- 
wounds. Even a feeble hand could carry a 
cup of cold water and touch gently. 

Burdened and distressed, disappointed and 
childless, even so much as this can be hidden 
away in the grateful smile of those you 
relieve. Strange mission of pain! In the 
presence of others’ sorrow our own woes 
reach their minimum. What else is it but 
this that makes us linger enrapt before the 
great pictures of Christ agonizing in the 
garden or on the cross ? 

What is it but this that shall revolutionize 
society and at last make all men brothers ? 

Happiness — blessedness — came once more. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 127 


28 

“ Put roses in their hair, put precious stones on their 
breast, see that they be arrayed in purple and scarlet, with 
other delights; that they also learn to read the gilded 
heraldry of the sky, and upon earth be taught — not only 
the labor, but the loveliness.” 


I WAS going back to visit and rest at the 
old farm home. Three years had passed 
since I rode away, that spring morning. 
Varied thoughts and emotions came to me as 
I drew near the old associations. Over the 
railroad-bed, where I was riding, I had ridden 
with Colonel Fuller, when the road was in 
process of construction seven years before. 

Places and farms I had known looked at 
me familiarly, like old friends. My sister 
met me at the station, and a mile drive 
brought us to the little huddle of houses 
anciently known as ‘‘ The Berg.” 


128 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


It seemed as if the fixed characters I saw 
sitting on the steps of the grocery, and just 
beyond at the post-office, must have remained 
faithful at their posts during my three years’ 
absence. Hiram Brown, the tall, gaunt man- 
gossip of the place, was whittling what ap- 
peared to be the same stick which he had 
held the day I left. And there were Amos 
Whelpley and Frank Wilcox, sitting on their 
old perches — talking cracker-barrel politics 
and philosophy. 

Passing the old blacksmith-shop, I caught 
a glimpse of the ruddy face of Patrick 
Murphy, illuminated by the forge fire, and 
saw his brawny arm in uprolled sleeve, ring- 
ing anvil music, the hot iron responding in its 
torture by giving out brilliant spark-showers. 
As a child I had seen only the beautiful 
sparks, — the result. Now I saw these and 
more, — the fiery furnace ; heard the cry of 
anguish under the hammer ; recognized the 
means to an end. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 129 


A call at the post-office for the mail, and 
then the old farm was before me again. The 
windows with their blue oil-cloth shades, and 
green blinds swung wide apart, seemed like 
great sphynx-eyes looking out, expressionless 
and solemn. 

Before we reached the horse-block, where 
the milk-can stood a faithful sentinel, mother 
was out, laughing and crying all in the same 
breath. 

“ Oh dear, you’ve caught us just before we 
got things into place,” she said as we reached 
the front door of the great farm kitchen, 
where Susan Green, of pyramid-cake renown, 
stood red and perspiring over the old elevated 
oven-stove. 

‘‘Things are a little upset,” said Susan, 
“but what muss there is you see right in 
the middle of the floor — the corners are all 
clean and there’s plenty to eat.” 

In the big “ spare room ” another neighbor- 
ing woman was hanging up the old family 


130 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 

portraits, mottoes, and chromos, the usual 
wall decorations of the ordinary farmhouse. 

It was characteristic of my mother to get 
out full force, and clean house from cellar to 
garret whenever company was in prospect. 
She could not let me rest till I had taken a 
journey to the pantry. 

“There! ’’she said, “I am going to see if 
we can’t get some color into your face.” 

Pies, cakes, and other good things loomed 
up on every side ; but the milk-rack, full of 
great pans of cream-covered milk, I remarked 
looked most tempting. 

“ Well, Susan,” said my mother, “ bring 
this child a bowl of bread and milk ; she can 
sit down and start on that while the ham and 
dandelion-greens cook for dinner.” 

Susan soon appeared bearing a bowl filled 
with the richest cream. 

“ Now, that’s what we call bread and 
milk,” said mother with satisfaction. “No 
wonder you look sick ; I should die if I 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 131 

had to live on milk-and-water and baker’s 
stuff.” 

To go over every nook and corner of the 
house and farm, and find nothing changed, 
had a certain impressiveness. The wood 
sink, in the woodshed, where I had washed 
dishes, pots, pans, pails, and cans to my 
heart’s content in my girlhood days, looked 
at me fraternally. 

Farther on, in the comer, stood the tool- 
box, with hoes hanging above, and axes and 
saws arranged in order on the wall close by. 

In the back yard grew clumps of bur- 
dock, horseradish, and comfrey, in their old 
haunts. 

The flower-garden had always been a 
source of delight and satisfaction. The beds 
were losing shape by neglect, but the collec- 
tion was a marvel in variety. Blackeyed- 
susans coquetted with sweet-williams over the 
bleeding hearts that drooped suggestively 
between ! Polyanthus, petunias, bachelor’s- 


132 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


buttons, and everlastings were there in glory 
and profusion. 

My mother seemed so well and happy, I 
little thought when I left, at the end of a two 
weeks’ visit, I should never see her about the 
old home again. To me was not given the 
vision of the angel in Tolstoy’s story, ‘‘ What 
Men Live By.” 

That same year, mother came to my home 
in failing health. During the four months 
we had her with us, she grew patient and 
serene as I had never known her to be in the 
hurried working-days. The something I had 
missed, when a child, I found now in this 
quiet, resting mother. Just to hear her say, 
“ My child,” was peace and contentment. 

Poor tired fathers and mothers ! Poor 
tired brothers and sisters ! Poor tired hu- 
manity ! How little we know of the dormant 
sweetness in every soul ! The real essence 
of true culture was with my mother — even 
an artistic nature and a sympathetic heart. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 133 


Better are these qualities than any conven- 
tional virtue or veneer. 

In the late autumn the summons came for 
which she had long waited, and mother’s 
working, care-distracted days were over. 

Shall men forever allow these life-tragedies 
to be enacted, and go on unheeding until 
the work of forming falls from out their 
hands ? Dark ages have their lessons. O 
People, build more wisely — watch the 
Master-builder I 


134 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


29 

“ But if a man walk in the night he stumbleth, because 
there is no light in him.” 

N ot long ago, Arthur, I listened to a 
sermon which pleased and helped me 
much. The minister, a hale, hearty 
man of years had been retired.” The things 
he said came forth with the genuine ring — 
simple, spontaneous. His text was : 


“ Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the 
young men shall utterly fail : but they that wait upon the 
Lord shall renew their strength ; they shall mount up 
with wings as eagles ; they shall run, and not be weary ; 
and they shall walk, and not faint.” 


When a child, his father had sent him — 
basket in hand — to the woods, nut-gathering. 
When he came back with the basket well 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 135 


filled, the boy felt like Napoleon at Auster- 
litz : when he returned with it empty, he felt 
like Napoleon at Waterloo. His father’s 
greeting was always the same — always 
gentle, be the basket full or empty. At this 
the boy marveled. Later, he learned the 
doctors had feared tuberculosis, and that his 
father had sent him out on those New Hamp- 
shire mountain-sides to bring back — health. 
The frail lad had thought his father wanted 
him to bring back hickory-nuts. The tragedy 
of life is its hickory-nut story. 

Ruskin illustrates the situation very aptly 
by telling of a suggestive dream he had once 
upon a time. He was attending a child’s 
May-day party, where everything had been 
provided for the comfort and amusement of 
the children — beautiful and interesting gar- 
dens, games, books, and toys. But in the 
midst of their joyousness it occurred to some 
of the more ‘‘practical” children that they 
would like some of the brass-headed nails 


136 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 

that studded the chairs. Soon all the chil- 
dren were busy spraining their fingers trying 
to pull out brass nails. Excitement ran high. 
Tables were overturned and beautiful pictures 
were demolished in the mad scramble. Here 
and there one of the children tried to creep 
away with a book, but, as a rule, tumult pre- 
vailed. One would shout, — “How many 
nails have you? I have five.” Response — 
“Goodness! I have fifty!” And so they 
pursued their “happiness,” though each well 
knew he should not be allowed to take 
away at night so much as one single brass 
knob. 

Arthur, how often we have talked these 
matters over, heart to heart, even soul to 
soul ! Sometimes we have been moved by 
the ludicrousness of it all, but the pathos 
touched us most. We thought we saw, in 
manifestation, three attributes of the entity 
we call God : Love, Wisdom, Power. Love, 
because we have in finite what the Over-soul 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 137 


has in infinite ; a stream cannot rise higher 
than its source. Wisdom and Power are self- 
evident in order and operation. From the 
sacred love-home which we have found each 
for each in the heart of the other, we reach 
out fondly, compassionately, to a universe 
filled with our kind. The constant ebb and 
flow of the all-pervading essence of life 
makes kindred of men and mountains, twink- 
ling night star, and echoing thunder. Breath- 
ing deeply and broadening out, we touch at 
times the outermost rim of the circle that has 
no circumference. Labels and limits grad- 
ually vanish into nothingness. We love as 
we would be loved, and forgive as we would 
be forgiven. Thus, with labor and loyalty, 
the days do grow most tuneful ! 

How easily can the wise power of love 
measure and settle all relations ! Not blind, 
insane, selfish love, but love that sees and 
gives itself in sanity I To me, this love 
we bear each other, Arthur, is most beautiful. 


138 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


most sacred, blending all the various elements 
of father, mother, sister, brother, friend, 
lover love. 

Listen, angels, — ‘‘Truth’s no cleaner thing 
than love.” 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 139 


30 

“ O poet, O my love, 

Since I was too ambitious in my deed. 

And thought to distance all men in success. 

Till God came on me, marked the place and said, 

‘ 111 -doer, henceforth keep within this line. 

Attempting less than others,’ — and I stand 
And work among Christ’s little ones, content.” 

T hose were dark days, Arthur, follow- 
ing my mother’s death — dragging, 
dreary times. Dire thoughts chased 
through my brain — hollow, transient. If 
one could only sleep, and never waken more 
with that returning conscious shudder ! For 
the sake of those who loved me I waited on 
— feeble in body, heart-sick, and with soul 
out of tune. I had missed my bearings, lost 
my way in the darkness ; but, out of agoniz- 
ing shadows and Gethsemane valleys, burst 


140 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


resurrection mornings, with rolled-back stones 
and Easter blooms. 

Only those lives need be barren that are 
lived for self. Words of love and looks of 
gratitude from sufferers are children that 
never break the hearts of those who brought 
them forth. When smiles sent daggers to 
my heart and happy faces mocked me with 
their joy, 'twas work and sacrifice that saved 
me whole. Take no one’s word : just do the 
thing that calls for these, then tell me if great 
Nature does not compensate ! The old, the 
sick, the forsaken were sought out. Classes 
for simple self-help were organized among 
the factory children, and life that had hung 
around my neck like a millstone changed into 
a jewel bright — light shone on it. 

Many of these children I found quick to 
learn, and almost all were eager and hungry 
for knowledge. 

I must tell you of little Bessie, a dear 
child of ten years, who interested me from 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 141 

the first. She was one of those little unfort- 
unates that Topsy said just ‘‘grow’d.” 

The mother was living her secret life in a 
neighboring city. I took the child to train 
privately. Before the year came around 
again she had made fine progress. I think 
I have never enjoyed in any other token 
of remembrance such pleasure as came from 
the little handkerchief Bessie brought me on 
the Christ-birthday of that year. 

« Mamma cried when I sang for her,” said 
the child. 

What did you sing, little one ? ” I 
asked. 

<‘Oh, I sang ‘Jewels’ and ‘Will there be 
any Stars in my Crown ? ’” 

“Tell your mamma I wish to see her,” 
I said. 

“ I wanted mamma to come to-day, but she 
said you wouldn’t want her,” answered the 
innocent one. 

“Tell her I do want her, sweetheart,” I 


142 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


said, guessing the probable reason of the 
woman’s sensitiveness. 

The following afternoon a faded-looking 
woman rang the bell diffidently. 

‘‘I’m Bessie’s mother,” she said timidly. 

I took her hand and asked her in. It was 
a moment before she spoke ; then she said 
with emotion, “ I know what folks think of 
me, but I want to thank you.” 

I could not speak. Something in the 
woman appealed to me. I felt somehow she 
had been more sinned against than sinning, 
and up against this thought stood another, 
best expressed in those lines from “Aurora 
Leigh,” which, you remember, Arthur, I 
quoted for you once before, when we sat 
watching the begrimed workers flock from 
the mills and factories toward their wretched 
homes in the slums : 

“ Poor blind souls 

That writhed toward heaven along the devil’s trail, — 
Who knows, I thought, but He may stretch His hand 
And pick them up ? ’tis written in the Book 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 143 


He heareth the young ravens when they cry ; 

And yet they cry for carrion. — O my God, 

And we, who make excuses for the rest. 

We do it in our measure.” 

Why, this woman, too, was a child of the 
king ! Were we not sisters ? When she 
left, her cheeks were tear-stained. I think 
my own eyes were not dry. 

Arthur, would any one but you understand 
when I speak the truth and say I felt a 
spiritual uplift from contact with this woman 
of the street ? So art often moves me — 
great poems, great pictures. Sublime cathe- 
drals, and Nature, too, so affect me, when, 
alone, I let them speak to me. 

And here was this sister, whom people 
called an outcast, striking the same chord — 
producing the same vibration — the same 
inspiration ! Wonderful ! 

The hours seemed fraught with benedic- 
tion. The brooding Mother - Presence was 
very near. 


144 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


But a gossipy neighbor called and broke 
the spell. She grated harshly, like the laugh 
of rude boys when the play is at the climax ; 
or like the slamming of heavy doors when 
the church is hushed in prayer. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 145 


31 

“ I press God’s lamp 

Close to my breast — its splendor, soon or late, 

Will pierce the gloom : I shall emerge one day. 

You understand me. I have said enough.” 

I T has been said, Arthur, that most of us 
are like drunken men on horseback — 
prop us up on one side, we lop over on the 
other. I believe it is also characteristic of 
the fellow who has put an enemy into his 
mouth to declare that his brains have not 
been stolen away. Our weak points, our 
protuberances and excrescences, are not al- 
ways the first objects that appear to us 
along our mental horizon. The symmetrical 
individual — poised perfectly, physically, men- 
tally, and spiritually — is a rare specimen. 
No wonder scientists declare there is but one 


146 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


sane person in every five. It is Nature’s 
recompense that each of course supposes 
himself to be that odd fifth fellow. 

“ Everybody is queer, except thee and me, 
Martha, and sometimes I think thee is a little 
queer,” said the good Quaker to his wife. 
We can imagine Martha’s reply. A grain of 
prejudice gives warped judgment ; a little 
more emphasis, and you have the hobby- 
rider ; a little stiffer conceit, and your crank 
loses balance entirely — over he goes. Still, 
cranks are necessary as well as balance- 
wheels. 

Freedom-loving, when I needlessly fly in 
the face of custom you tell me, Arthur, that 
I lop to the anti-conventional ; but when I 
saw the hired man eating gluttonously with 
his knife, and using his index-finger as a 
tooth-pick, I thanked good fortune for code 
and caste. 

So operates the law of the tangent men- 
tally. I’ll grow modest ; I do not forget 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 147 


that through this prejudice I had some little 
bother in finding you, Arthur, who are a 
born conformist — an aristocratic democrat. 
Wheels within wheels, but no cog ever slips 
in this God-made mechanism. 

I’ve just been looking over Helen Keller’s 
book, and it has given me a fresh grip upon 
the altar-rails. It isn’t because the truths in 
her ‘‘Optimism ” are new to me. No, it’s be- 
cause she found them out, shut in all alone 
in her secret soul-chamber. In reading her 
book I listen to the testimony of a light that 
never was on sea or land, but shines brightest 
in the shadows ; and I receive messages from 
still small voices that speak loudest in the 
silences. The potency of soul over sense 
spans a blind girl’s eyes with rainbows and 
makes oblivion melodious. Hurrah for such 
music and such rainbows as wait on Helen 
Keller ! 


148 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


32 

“We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it, — 

Lie down for an ^on or two, 

Till the Master of all good workmen 
Shall put us to work anew.” 

W E were debating the question, should 
we give up our simple life and enter 
the struggle in a larger town. It 
took us long, Arthur, to decide ; the liberty 
we enjoyed was not easily surrendered. We 
pictured a home of our own, such as I had 
visioned even as early as that first visit of 
Aunt Sarah Silvering, with garden, flowers, 
and, above all, the freedom of the country. 

Over against this stood the possibility of 
larger intellectual advantages, broader asso- 
ciations and friendships, offered by the city. 

Who was the great bachelor who said, when 
rallied upon the subject of marriage : ‘‘ I have 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 149 


always regretted that I did not marry ; but I 
knew, if I married, I should always regret 
that ” ? 

There were days when we imagined we 
bought a lot, built our house, laid out our 
garden, planted our seeds, and felt the satis- 
faction of creation. Then came days when 
we longed 'for the friction and stimulus of 
the crowd, though the dear garden flowers — 
daffodils and daisies — seemed to hang their 
heads and talk of rank disloyalty. 

We betrayed our first love. The city won 
us in the end. 

We adjusted ourselves to our new environ- 
ment by degrees, and drew about us our own 
‘‘elect few.” To be in the friendship of the 
many — spontaneous with those who are not 
upon your plane — is to court misunderstand- 
ing. To cater, to be other than yourself, is 
to stultify and dwarf. I thought I had a 
vague idea of the minister’s feelings last 
Sunday, when I heard him shout : 


ISO WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


“ Understand, understand what I say, then 
believe me or not, as you please.” 

Arthur, have you ever said to a reasoning, 
thinking human being, — or, at least, to one 
who was supposed to think and reason and be 
human, — that you believe in the abolishment 
of capital punishment, and then hear it re- 
ported next day that you believe in murder ? 
I have known things as unaccountable as 
that. 

If you do not believe in war, coercion, 
arbitrary methods, and a thousand and one 
useless and disregarded statutory laws, be 
wise and hold your peace, or take your 
chances with mud and stones. To be a 
man, and think, has always been dangerous 
business. To be a woman, and think, must 
surely prove fatal — unwomanly, at least. 
Beg pardon ! a woman cannot think, and is 
therefore safe. Another evidence of com- 
pensation. 

What with crampings and caterings, con- 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 15 1 


ventions and corsets, no wonder “society’* 
produces so many insipid nonentities who 
make a safety-valve of fads and fashions. 
Pent-up energy must find vent. It takes the 
line of least resistance and goes on acting, 
manifesting, — for life cannot stand still. If 
your spiritual Hebrew, crushed and perse- 
cuted, can no longer breathe out poetry and 
sing psalms, he can concentrate his powers 
upon commercialism, until your Job and 
David differentiate into Shylocks, and your 
money-lords — the Jewish Rothschilds — sway 
a scepter more powerful than any royal family 
of modern Europe. 

Shall we be wise? To conserve force is 
not enough. Direct it well, else ruin results. 


152 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


33 


Par. “ Oh, but to find a wise man. A wise man ! ” 
Her. “ Yes, indeed, a wise man 1 ” 

H istory went on making. Financial 
anxiety was becoming a thing of the 
past. It is matter for regret, Arthur, 
that so many young professional men begin 
life with a lean pocket-book. A celebrated 
judge said recently : “ I am thankful that I 
found myself in such financial condition from 
my father’s estate that I could preserve my 
honor and integrity in the first strenuous days 
of my career.” 

What a jump forward will the old world 
take when 

“No one shall work for money, and no one shall work 
for fame ; 

But each for the joy of the working.” 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 153 


A young legal man of fine fiber once said 
to me, ** I tell you, this is killing me ! You 
see. I’m on the fence. Over on one side I see 
brotherhood, altruism ; over on the other, it 
is ‘every man for himself, and the devil take 
the hindmost ! ’ If I fail it is because I am 
not God enough for the one, nor beast enough 
for the other.” 

Much the same dilemma faces the young 
man who dabbles in lotions and potions. 

The wealthy old man around the comer 
has fallen on the ice. They call the doctor, 
who looks him over carefully. 

“ You’re all right, Mr. Jones,” he says 
cheerfully. “ Pretty badly used up, but you’ll 
be out in a few days.” 

When the doctor takes his leave, friends 
gather about. 

“ My, I believe some bone must be 
broken,” says one. 

“ When people are old, they say their bones 
are brittle,” says friend number two. 


154 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


“ I knew a case once, where the doctor 
didn’t find out the bone was broken for two 
weeks,” says friend number three. 

“ I don’t think that young fellow knows his 
business anyway,” says friend number four. 

And so they go on, until, ten chances to 
one, they send for another pill-man. If he is 
that “ odd fifth fellow,” he may confirm the 
first diagnosis ; but, if he cares to do so, he 
can strain a moral point and please the people 
by reporting a contrary diagnosis, where- 
upon a nurse is sent for, they keep the patient 
in bed, the doctor charges well for his serv- 
ices, evolves the famous aldermanic front, 
wins success, travels abroad. 

Meanwhile his honest rival pines and 
starves awhile, then, very likely, falls into line 
and marches with the rank and file. 

“Temptations in the wilderness.” 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 155 


34 


“ Then Job answered and said, I have heard many such 
things ; miserable comforters are ye all. Shall vain words 
have an end? or what emboldeneth thee that thou an- 
swereth ? I also could speak as ye do, if your soul were 
in my soul’s stead.” 

A n epidemic of diphtheria that swept the 
city during the winter after our arrival 
left desolation in many homes. I knew 
each of his cases as did the doctor himself. 
Schools were closed, and every home was in 
fear and trembling, never knowing when the 
dreaded thing might enter. It was not rare 
for every child in a family to be taken. 

I remember one case, where the pros- 
perous, happy parents had never before suf- 
fered bereavement. Within six days their 


156 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


two beautiful children were stricken fatally. 
Little Clarence was apparently convalescent, 
when the father came for the doctor in 
breathless haste. 

‘‘Doctor, my boy cannot speak aloud,” and, 
catching my husband by the arm with a look 
and tone that combined threat and helpless 
appeal, he said, “ Don’t you dare let that child 
die ! ” 

Two hours later, the man entered the office 
again, with halting gait and hardened face. 
I broke the silence forcefully : 

“Dear man,” I said, “others endure even 
greater loss.” 

“ Oh, don’t talk to me like that ! ” he 
flashed out reproachfully. “ It won’t feed a 
hungry man to know that others starve.” 

I felt helpless. He left, repeating : 

“ Nothing to live for — nothing to live 
for.” 

Before the week ended, they made another 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 157 


little sleeping-place, for ten-year-old Annie, 
beside her brother Clarence. A week later, 
the father sought me out, and, taking my 
hand, said quietly : ‘‘ I had to learn — but Fd 
be so thankful just to have little Annie back 
again.” 


158 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


35 


“ If we knew but one color, we should know no color. 
If our ears were to be filled with one monotonous roar of 
Niagara, unbroken by alien sounds, the effect upon con- 
sciousness would be absolute silence.” 

( SEATED myself on the side porch to 
have a long chat with you, this afternoon, 
Arthur. 

One of Booker Washington’s financial 
agents tells the story of the colored preacher 
who announced to his congregation that his 
subject was to be ‘‘Ardent Spirits,” declaring 
himself to be full of his subject. 

My subject differed from that of the col- 
ored brother, but I do remember that I was 
full of my subject — when lo ! the house- 
keeper, approaching, sat down near, with her 
basket of carpet-rags. Presto, change ! Every- 
thing took on a different hue. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 159 


She said she never turned her rags when 
she cut them, but sewed every end firmly. 
If you didn’t, there would surely be lumps in 
your carpet, and, for her part, she hated lumps 
in a carpet. She said Miranda Peabody’s 
carpets were full of lumps, but, for that 
matter, Miranda wasn’t any housekeeper to 
begin with. The children always looked 
slip-shod, and, she said, she never knew her 
to have company without sending out to 
borrow something. 

She said she thought old wool-underwear 
made the best rags, but they were awful hard 
to cut even. She said she thought Exception 
Dye held color on cotton better than any 
other ; but, she said, she had heard that the 
firm had broken down — at least she couldn’t 
find them in market the last time she in- 
quired, and therefore, she said, the next 
carpet she made would be hit and miss.” 

She said she had made one hundred and 
seventeen yards of carpet that year. Oh yes. 


i6o WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


she said she had found a man-weaver who 
wove for ten cents a yard. She had been 
paying twelve before. 

I think that covers the subject of the 
afternoon’s conversation. I wondered and 
envied as she talked. 

When I was alone again, I returned to my 
unfinished page, and saw staring at me 

blankly these words : “To see the” and 

there the matter ended. I couldn’t gather 
up the broken ends ; consequently, other 
vibrations may be established in your “gray 
matter,” when you scan these pages, than 
would have been established had that house- 
keeper stayed in her room, gone to the other 
side of the house, or eaten too freely of the 
strawberry shortcake, smeared over with 
whipped cream, which she gave us at the 
noon hour. 

In the city, yesterday, I caught myself 
hesitating a moment before I chose one of 
the three exits from the great store I had 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? i6i 


visited : and yet each little step makes a 
turning-point, sets up vibrations, carries with 
it influences which extend and widen for- 
ever. 

Thoughts along these lines came to me 
when I walked over to the beach this morn- 
ing and sat long time watching the human- 
like restlessness of the great lake. I grew 
interested in the white-capped waves travel- 
ing in — breaking and subsiding. Each one 
seemed to say, at the last : “ There ! I 
reached as far as I could.” One, more 
mighty than its fellows, reached into the 
sand-land so far that the water stayed in a 
little pool, quiet, by itself. I thought the 
poor wave must feel isolated and lonesome, 
and almost regret the effort and triumph that 
left it away from comradeship — alone : but 
it soon sank into the sand, and there was 
nothing left to tell of the effort, — the 
triumph, — the aloneness and the vanitas 
vanitatum. 


i 62 what would one HAVE? 


36 

“ Don’t fear. It’s all going to come out right, dear.” 

A GRAY hair in the coil of brown turned 
the current of my thoughts one morn- 
ing when I found myself standing at 
thirty years. I looked back, Arthur, over 
the pathway I had traveled up to this full 
womanhood, and somehow the valley and the 
mountain - top experiences blended into a 
wonderfully harmonious whole — a beautiful 
picture. I believe some scientists claim that 
the inharmonious, rasping noises of lower 
earth blend together in the upper atmosphere, 
making mellow music. 

Brush and hand-mirror lay in my lap, idle. 
Thirty years ! In the old wood - bottomed 
rocking-chair I saw a little heap of developed 
protoplasm, cradled in white and carefully 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 163 


guarded. How marvelous! Scarcely self- 
conscious, — helpless, — it lay there. And 
I wondered if my mother felt as I too well 
knew I should feel, if all myself I owned a 
little thing like that. Then they gave it a 
name to distinguish it from other little proto- 
plastic masses, and soon the little mass 
learned to feel “I am I,” over against “you 
are you," — and history commenced. The 
little “I -am -I” mass went out to look for 
happiness, even as others before it had done 
from the very beginning. 

There were baby days, then little toddler 
days ; little school-girl days — dark days — 
ambitious days — love-hungry days — disap- 
pointed days — days of temptation. 

“ Oh, how thankful I am to-day I " burst 
from me. “ How I love every differentiated 
soul-atom ever sent into this strange old 
world ! " 

The little children passing, — I wanted to 
kiss them ; the hardened-looking laborers, — I 


i 64 what would ONE HAVE? 

wanted to take their hands ; even the woman 
gossip across the street, who said such unkind 
things, — yes, I loved her too. This was a 
red-letter day, when I could sing with Pippa : 

“ God’s in his heaven, 

All’s right with the world.” 

I was growing stronger each day. The 
world would call us happy and prosperous. 
The home we had seen in mind so long was 
to become a reality. Days of economy were 
over. Those summer days, we spent our 
spare time talking over and arranging the 
details of the new home. 

At last, all worry and bustle were over. 
Contentment was with us. We had been 
settled a week. 

I walked from room to room, and looked 
and looked. 'Twas all so dear! From the 
hall where the old clock stood at the top of 
the stairs (we had made a special effort to 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 165 


get this rare old clock), I would go the 
rounds, satisfying that something in me 
which only a woman can understand. Into 
the parlor at the left, where almost every- 
thing was “perfectly new,” I went, feasting 
and satisfied. There they were, the curtains, 
rugs, and odd chairs that had taken so much 
time in selecting, with the thought, “ I’ll get 
something good, for I’ll have it all my life.” 

In the right-hand corner stood the piano ; 
in the opposite corner my dear book-case, 
with the books peeping from behind the cur- 
tains, which were half -drawn. The flame 
in the fire-place threw its flickering light 
and pleasant glow over all. Yes, it was 
just as it should be, I felt, as I passed on 
through folding doors into the adjoining 
room, all our very own. Open grate, books, 
and periodicals, — this room had the genuine 
smack of home. 

We had come into our new possessions in 
September. It was an October evening when 


i66 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


we sat there making plans, still looking into 
the future, still hoping, dreaming. 

“ I am very happy, very happy,” he said, 
drawing his chair closer, and looking into 
my eyes questioningly, as if he saw the 
faintest shadow still deep down there. 

It’s all going to come out right, dear,” he 
said, in answer to a little tear that would 
force to the front while I answered bravely, 
smiling : 

Oh, that’s just a joy-evidence ! You 
know tears always come when I’m very 
happy.” 

November of that year, as it came, caught 
up a handful of October days and gave them 
to us lavishly. But the days were growing 
shorter and more leaden as the annual Thank- 
Day approached, which I had planned to 
celebrate with friends and a regulation 
“turkey dinner” in my own new home. 

You say, Arthur, I do not seem to you like 
other women, but I am a woman after all. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 167 


Women, men, the best of us splendidly hu- 
man, — ‘‘divinities playing fool.” 

I arranged the menu in my mind, — saw 
the new china and other table accessories 
dainty, snowy, and resplendent, — but I did 
not see all. The arrow that flieth in the dark 
was pointing toward my happiness, but I did 
not see it. 

How important seemed those salads and 
pastries — till the sharp twang of the bow- 
string brought me awake amid the everlast- 
ing verities. Yes, I had been sleeping, dream- 
ing. We should celebrate Thanksgiving, but 
not together. He had just time to repeat 
again : “ It’s all going to come out right, 
dear,” — then the great mystery of mysteries 
closed about him, and closed about me, while 
I walked alone. 


i68 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


37 

“Think you it was only John on the Isle of Patmos 
who saw the heavens open ? ” 

P erhaps this, too, was a dream from 
which I should presently awaken ! I 
had often dreamed dreams I wished to 
stay, — of something warm and dear, nestling 
in my arms, and drinking at my breast. Yes, 
perhaps it was all a dream ; but the hushed 
hours wore on, doors closed softly, people 
came and went whisperingly, sad-faced friends 
kissed me tenderly, and I began to feel I 
should never waken to find this dreadful 
thing untrue. 

With dry, sleepless eyes I looked, trying 
to realize, trying to penetrate, trying to reach 
with focused love - thoughts this one who 
always knew before. No answer came. Then 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 169 


a silent soul-cry went forth that must have 
vibrated for response to the uttermost parts 
of the universe. I waited — the answer 
came back sure enough : 

‘‘Don’t fear. It’s all going to come out 
right, dear.” 

Oh, limitless, exhaustless God - forces ! 
There was no more tumult. Yes, there 
would come tired days and lonesome days, 
valley days and mountain-top days ; but these 
must come from the external personality. I 
had the secret of His presence where my 
soul could always hide. 

Never think, Arthur, the victory was an 
easy one. They brought me back — how 
cold it was ! The faint odor of flowers about 
the rooms made me heart-sick. Every room, 
every corner suggested our happiness — a 
memory. As they sang, so I repeated prayer- 
fully, “ Lead, kindly light,” walking again 
through the desolate rooms of my home. 
Home? I had now no home, such as men 


170 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


rear, builded by hands. Even my simple 
childhood home was no more, and I thought 
of the one who said : “ The foxes have holes, 
and the birds of the air have nests.” 

What to do, — where to go, — must be 
thought of with all the rest, and many days 
I staggered blindly, as one cruelly smitten, 
seeing not the next step ; but ever and anon 
that Soul- voice sent its vibrations into my 
soul’s innermost sanctuary — the Holy of 
Holies — and the peace that passeth under- 
standing settled over all for the moment, 
while I rested satisfied. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 17 1 


38 

“ To tame 

My mind down from its own infinity, — 
To live in narrow ways with little men, 
A common sight to every common eye.” 


E vidently I must remain quiet for 
the winter ; at least until matters ma- 
terial could become adjusted to a new 
regime. 

For company’s sake, and to defray ex- 
penses, “ roomers ” were suggested. A mod- 
est advertisement in the columns of the city 
paper was soon answered by a young physi- 
cian, who not only took such books and 
instruments as were at disposal, but, liking 
the location, engaged the offices and hung up 
his new sign. 

A young Danish minister, who had charge 


172 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


of the spiritual welfare of a small flock of his 
countrymen in the South End, was the next 
roomer who took up his abode in the house 
for the winter. 

And now I began to realize more than ever 
that life means only a series of experiences, 
turning-points ; nothing is permanent or se- 
cure but transition and life-essence. 

So broken on the potter’s wheel, I felt 
every one must be my friend and helper. 
But I grew to know what the banker, who 
shook my hand so cordially with moist eyes, 
meant when he said, ‘‘Anything we can do 
for you will make us most happy.” 

More difficult to understand was the 
whispered counsel of the woman who said, 
“ Aren’t you afraid to keep these two men 
roomers ? ” 

To my answer that I really enjoyed them 
in my house, that they were considerate and 
courteous, she said, — 

“ H’m 1 You do not know the world.” 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 173 


Well, if I didn't I should have to learn. 
And as I came to learn more and more, I 
grew to think, if so-called heathen were to be 
asked why they offer up the widow on the 
husband’s funeral - pile, they might answer 
wisely, ‘‘There are reasons.” 

I can understand why animals rend each 
other in hunger or passion. I can even 
excuse my kind when they strike, burn, rob, 
and murder, if thwarted or wounded by a 
person or system when they reach out for 
gratification ; but I could never yet under- 
stand that hideous impulse developed in 
many, perhaps in all human animals, to sow 
destruction out of pure heedlessness or 
maliciousness, to make another poor and not 
enrich themselves. If there is no scientific 
explanation of this thing, here is an opening 
for a new “ism,” “ology,” or what-not. 

So runs my thought ; but what am I ? — 
an atomic center caught in the spiral of evo- 
lution, even as a million others, yea, even as 


174 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


every manifesting, vibrating universal atom. 
The same origin, the same road to travel, the 
same destiny ; and this my soul seems to 
realize right well. 

Legal formalities, red tape, and business 
had been gone through with during that long 
winter. I could now call matters practically 
settled. I would sell everything and go east 
to Boston town itself. My nerves asked for 
change. The doctors advised it, — I would 
go. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 175 


39 


“ To sell the boat — and yet he loved her well — 

How many a rough sea had he W'eather’d in her 1 ” 

A S Enoch felt, so felt I, as the last of 
my household gods passed into cold, 
stranger hands. All except my dear 
Books. I could carry half a dozen of them, 
small burden and great company ; the rest a 
friend stored for me. 

Thirty years I had functioned, evolved, 
run, walked up and down, in and out, here 
and there, along the roads, lanes, and by- 
paths of western New York and northwestern 
Pennsylvania. I could not go away unmoved 
from the little nucleus of association I had 
formed. Tears followed one another over 
my cheeks as the jarring, plunging, shrieking 
train moved rapidly away with me that day 


176 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


toward the New England metropolis. Mem- 
ories came thronging thick and fast as the 
shadows lengthened over the landscape and 
shut out from my sight the familiar scenes 
of a lifetime. 

“ Had not his poor heart 
Spoken with That which being everywhere 
Lets none who speaks with Him seem all alone, 
Surely the man had died of solitude.” 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 177 


40 

“ At times I almost dream 
I too have spent a life the sages’ way, 

And tread once more familiar paths.” 

C OMING into the South Terminal station 
the next morning, I thought of the 
woman who said if she couldn’t be in 
heaven, she was glad to have gotten as far as 
Boston. 

I found a suitable boarding-place with little 
trouble, reveled in soap and water, took a 
short nap, dressed, ate luncheon, and ‘‘went 
out for to see.” 

A step brought me to the Public Library on 
Copley square. What an accumulation was 
before me of the best thoughts of the sanest 
ones of all time ! For three thousand years 


178 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


or more, rockets had been sent up and out 
into the darkness, to signal other voyagers 
sailing over the ocean of experience, who 
cried out forever, ‘‘Watchman, what of the 
night ? ” A blue rocket, a white-light rocket, 
a blood-red rocket ; — but the spectrum re- 
veals about the same elementals. 

I found Sargent had left a portion of his 
soul on the walls, which I should study later. 
Under a glass I saw two bronzed hands, one 
a slender, veined woman’s, representing the 
hand that wrote “Aurora Leigh,” clasped in 
the strong, manly hand that wrote — well, 
everything, “ Pippa,” “ Saul,” “ Rabbi Ben 
Ezra”; and made Andrea Del Sarto say to 
Lucretia : 

“ Y our soft hand is a woman of itself, 

And mine the man’s bared breast she curls inside.” 

I once heard a woman preacher say, in a 
lecture at Chautauqua, that shallow-brained 
women read Browning as a fad, never com- 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 179 


prehending what the man meant, ‘*any more 
than he did himself when he wrote it ” ! 

“ But God has a few of us whom he whispers in the ear ; 
The rest may reason and welcome ; ’tis we musicians know.” 

From Socrates and Jesus, coming along 
down to Wagner and Browning, — even to 
you and me, Arthur, — are we indeed 
“Islands shouting lies to each other across 
seas of misunderstanding ” ? 

But our reverend friend has her insight. 
Farther on in the lecture she explained why 
these same shallow - brained creatures are 
allowed to cumber the earth : “How could 
woman be anything but stupid and insipid ? — 
God was making a mate for man.” Mrs. 
Poyser, in “Adam Bede,” was evidently of 
the same opinion. 

The Public Garden was the place for rest 
that afternoon. I could watch the jostling 
people out on Boylston and Tremont streets, 
as they hurried along up and down. Where 


i8o WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


were they going ? What was the haste ? — 
universal space before them and eternity back 
of them ; no chance of missing — doomed to 
get there. 

I read on a monument through the trees : 

“ And there shall be no more pain.” 

I thought I could believe it all, and more 
perhaps than was intended, for the monument 
commemorated the discovery of ether by a 
Boston physician. Even so much was ad- 
vancement — a great blessing. But may the 
time not come when a larger metaphysics 
shall indeed help our physics? 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? i8i 


41 


“ The divine relation which in all times unites a great 
man to other men.” 


S EVERAL days I spent visiting places 
of historic interest, until a hazy after- 
noon found me at Mount Auburn. You 
know well, Arthur, the painful ravishment 
that comes to the soul who meets God face 
to face, and alone. Did those of old time 
feel something of this when they said, ‘‘No 
man can look upon His face and live ” ? 
They had their burning bushes, too. 

Out of the hurry and scurry, rumble and 
jumble, of the city of the living, into the 
peaceful serenity of the city of the dead ! 
Such dead ! Longfellow, Lowell, Holmes, 
Sumner, Brooks, Agassiz, Choate, Channing, 
Booth, Charlotte Cushman, Fanny Fern, — 


i82 what would one HAVE? 


only a few months ago they were jostling 
with the crowd, down Boylston street, along 
Tremont street, over there in the busy 
metropolis. Where were they this day when 
I came so far to see them ? I wanted to tell 
them I had seen their signals afar off and felt 
more secure in the darkness. 

On the plain marble slab before me I read : 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 

Born 1807 — Died 1882. 

Some years before, in a tiny cell, lay the 
latent creations of the man who was to come 
forth and be known to the world as Henry 
Wadsworth Longfellow. The dormant cell, 
touched by another cell, felt the quiver of 
life and began to stir. Days passed, and that 
little cell — clothed and in its right mind — 
walked among its kind, self-conscious, brother- 
conscious, God-conscious ; suffering, but sing- 
ing. Did all this unfold with the physical 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 183 


cell-development, or . did some psychic atom, 
ages old in experience, take up its abode in 
clay for purposes best known to the Great 
Spirit itself? 

The myriad of thought - entities sent out 
from this soul -center, which had touched 
my own years before, now came thronging 
back. Listening, the charming meter of 
“ Hiawatha ” beat upon me once more. I 
heard the priest saying again to Evangeline : 

“Man is unjust but God is just, and finally justice tri- 
umphs.” 

Bending lower, I fancied I could hear Paul 
Fleming reading aloud to Mary Ashburton, 
out among the Swiss hills : 

“ Into the Silent Land 1 
Ah, who shall lead us thither ? 

Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather, 

And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand. 
Who leads us with a gentle hand 
Thither, oh, thither, 

Into the Silent Land ? ” 


1 84 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


Then came rejection, the struggle, and the 
victory ; for Mary’s heart did not awake until 
she read “ Hyperion.” 

I drew away reluctantly from this one who 
knew so well the story of strength and suf- 
fering. 

I heard Lowell plead once more that day 
for brotherhood and human freedom. Holmes 
grew genial over the tea-cups, and Phillips 
Brooks talked of deep things with childlike 
simplicity. I saw Charlotte Cushman and 
Edwin Booth walking the boards again, 
thrilled and thrilling ; and Louis Agassiz 
working patiently, deciphering the story of 
the earth written in her rocks and fossils. 

Climbing the tower, I looked off dizzily 
towards the smoky city. The dome of the 
State House loomed up proudly on Beacon 
Hill. Trolley-cars were crossing and recross- 
ing the Charles, steam-cars and ferry-boats 
were in sight, carrying their loads of human 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 185 


freight. So far I saw. But clouds closed 
around about the things I fain would see. 

Goethe’s last words were, ‘‘More light.’* 
Hugo pleaded for extension of life, that the 
unwritten volumes pent up within his marvel- 
ous brain might come forth into the light of 
day. 

This cannot be all, I thought ; God will 
never allow such waste, — in the universal 
economy all is safe. 

The lights of Cambridge shone through 
the rain and mist when I changed cars for 
Boston ; but the “ feeling of sadness and 
longing that my soul could not resist” had 
left me when, before leaving Mount Auburn, 
I sang in the chapel, 

“ Nearer, my God, to Thee, 

Nearer to Thee, 

E’en though it be a cross 
That raiseth me.” 


i86 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


42 

“Well, to live long and see the darkness breaking, and 
the day coming I the day when soul shall not thrust back 
soul that would come to it.” 

I ’VE met something here, Arthur, that 
points toward heaven as surely as the 
buds and tender grass, — a young girl of 
seventeen years, taken from school and com- 
panionship five years ago to do household 
work and care for an invalid mother. She 
gives me the soul-touch, and I give her a 
few small things in the way of orthography, 
etymology, syntax, and so forth. The balance 
shows me the debtor. 

Yesterday she handed me lines which 
I copy, because I know you will be inter- 
ested : 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 187 


“ Thoughts. 

“ In perfect trust she waits, 

Nor cares what the morrow may bring forth. 

Why should she, one little soul, 

Go struggling through this life ? 

Had she not suffered much — 

Enough to learn that, struggle as she might, 

She could not change the laws 
Of One who gave her life ? 

Is it not better to accept His will } 

Does she not know that all is for the best ? 

“ Love, beauty in all the simple life around. 

The flowers, the birds, and rolling hills — 

Simple did I say ? Dear one. 

Simple because We cannot understand 
The purpose of that great Almighty Hand 
That rules this world 

And all the world’s unknown to human mind. 

“ She sat by the window idly musing, 

W atching the throngs of souls that passed her by. 
Some with impatient feet were hurrying. 

The sordid pleasure of their life to test. 

Would they drain the cup to find 
In its bitter dregs dissatisfaction, 

Telling their lives were spent in waste ? 


i88 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


“Here passes a face so lonely and so sad; 

There another with halting gait and crime-marked 
face : — 

How she longs to take their hands, 

To make their tired souls glad, 

Telling them that, by the grace of God, 

Here w’aits a longing sister soul 
Striving to reach the same great goal. 

She turns away. They would not understand. 

‘ Oh for the time,’ she murmurs, 

* When we can take each other’s hand 
With perfect love and sympathy, — 

Then we shall understand.’ 

“ There are many years to wait, dear, 

Uncounted in the great forever; 

Y ears in which our souls must grow, 

Before we all shall reach that goal 
And merge in one great Universal Soul.” 

There’s a lump in my throat, and tears 
come as I write of this little one who comes 
so near and dear to me. Good stay with her ! 
Shut-in so many years, she cannot ring the 
bell at a neighbor’s door without great fear 
and trembling. , I imagine she could rap with 
some confidence upon other doors, — for in- 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 189 


stance the house of many mansions, not made 
with hands, where ‘‘real swell quality” dwell, 
too. That would be a case of the Old Folks 
at Home — kinship. 

This is but one of the wayside weeds that 
the world tramples upon unheeding. Trans- 
planted to some Gardner estate, what would 
we get then ? 

This brings to mind another girl, whom 
I saw caught in a spelling contest, at a 
“country teachers’ association,” years ago. 
After correcting their long lists of words that 
had been written down in hurried excitement, a 
young professor, of the lean and hungry type, 
requested the company to stand. They then 
seated themselves according to their number 
of misspelled words. All were soon seated 
excepting one young girl, who stood on blush- 
ing to the bitter end, feeling, no doubt, as 
cats are said to feel when they find them- 
selves prowling around in strange places — 
more especially garrets. 


190 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


Spelling long since ‘‘ceased from troub- 
ling ” that little girl. She does some things 
fairly well, considering. She has read me 
some rather good verses of her own, and she 
claims modestly that she almost suffers at 
times with the ravishment of great genuine 
poems that come and go, vanishing away 
among the lost chords of earth. She talks 
strangely, too, of luring thoughts and fancies 
that baffle and defy all words, even when 
correctly spelled. 

Those simpering pedagogues of other days 
are still discussing ways and means along 
cramming -process lines, believing the long 
established always adequate, — they never 
burrowed deep down around the roots ; never 
took a trip off through airy spaces on the 
rainbow - tinted wings of the ideal. They 
weren’t built for sky-travel. Surface lines, 
elevated roads, and subways! 

To keep in touch with and analyze care- 
fully that little girl of spelling-test renown 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 191 

has been a foolish ambition with me ever 
since. I didn’t become interested in her 
because of her mistakes, but because she 
stood and blushed when she might have sat 
down with the rest. 

I wonder sometimes if she would stand on 
so now while others smiled and tittered. You 
know, Arthur, she was very young then, and 
if she had heard about the pearls and swine 
story, she hadn’t taken it very much to heart. 
However, when I talked with her last, she 
said she knew what it is to be turned upon 
and rended. She’s queer, certainly, but I 
like her better than anybody else, — except- 
ing you, Arthur. 

When at parties and places she behaves 
very much after the can-opening style. Last 
week, at a club gathering, I did once catch a 
far-away look in her eyes, and heard her gen- 
tleman satellite say something about admira- 
tion for abstract moods, and wonder at her 
thoughts. 


192 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 

He wasn’t the first in all this world to 
wonder, — was he, Arthur? Yes, she’s no 
fool. In another test I believe she would sit 
down with the rest — unless some one was 
to be hurt by said sitting down ; but that’s 
another phase, to be taken up anon. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 193 


43 


“ Awakened with a start, I depart, 

Whither I know not ; but the hour’s gone by.” 



UITE a little time had come and gone 


since I stepped from the train that 


^ morning, a stranger in a strange land. 
But I had learned to love Boston and its 
people. 

The stern New England winter was past, 
and spring days were with us at last. My 
first outing, I decided, must be a visit to old 
Concord. 

The day came at last, a perfect day, when 
even the cattle, as the seer says, lie on the 
ground and think great thoughts. 

I placed a light lunch in my hand-bag, and 
started out early. It would be another one 


194 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


of my days — dream - days, Til call them. 
Arthur, do we not all see beautiful pictures, 
hear wonderful melodies, live Christ-like in 
our dream-world? Gladly at such times 
would we too send up a rocket — hold up our 
signal, saying ** Behold, fellow-mortals ! this I 
see, this I hear, this I dream.” 

What wonder we feel misunderstood when 
our instruments are faulty, or when we fail in 
manipulation ! 

‘‘ Take you to all important points, 
ma’am ! ” said the eager hackman, handing 
me a neat descriptive card. The day was 
before me, — I chose to walk. 

Out past the old cemetery the road led me, 
until I recognized the place where, for many 
years, lived the unostentatious man who 
sent the schools to school — Ralph Waldo 
Emerson. God indeed let loose a thinker 
on the planet when this one came. 

I took my way to the orchard opposite the 
house, sat down under the trees, and fell to 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 195 


musing and hero-worshiping, as I surveyed 
everything before me in detail. I saw noth- 
ing unusual^ — there were the out-buildings, 
the trees, the woodpile — quite commonplace. 
Why, how, and where did he find it all ? 

True, it is a beautiful spot of earth, this 
Concord around about ; but cold and heat 
and famine and fear could come here, too, 
bringing the story of hunger and pain. 

I sat on — ceasing for the time to be 
“ importuned by emphatic trifles.” But three 
girls on bicycles, coming down the Lexington 
road, wakened me with that shock which 
comes when the actual crushes into the 
ideal. 

‘‘ Do you think she looks pretty, mornings, 
in that red wrapper ? ” asked Number One. 

“No, but she thinks she does,” answered v 
Number Two. 

“ Isn’t this the old Emerson place ? ” asked 
Number Three — and they were out of sight. 

Getting up slowly, and brushing the dust 


196 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


from my skirt, I moved on along the Lexing- 
ton road a short distance, to the old homes 
of Hawthorne and Alcott ; — Alcotts, father 
and daughter, almost as beautiful to contem- 
plate as that other royal pair, Robert and 
Elizabeth Browning. 

Plain, unpractical, misunderstood man, 
Bronson Alcott. Emerson, who much valued 
the man, felt obliged to apologize for him 
always, even to Carlyle. That reminds me, 
Arthur ! — did you read the correspondence 
of Emerson and Carlyle ? You know, I was 
always in love with the surly old Sage of 
Chelsea ! Consequently, I never felt that 
Jane Welch suffered so much, after all. She 
knew the great soul of her husband ; and 
what are the moods of a dyspeptic, over- 
worked, cramped man to glints and flashes, 
signs and touches known to souls ! 

To consort with Herr Teufel sdrockh, in 
those moments when he tells of hearing the 
grass grow with his quick tympanum, would 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 197 


atone for many overturned tables and erratic 
doings all around. Mental kinship ignores 
details. Jane Welch was fit companion for 
the great flesh-bound soul of Thomas Carlyle. 

Nearly opposite the Hawthorne home I 
found a half-dozen men working with a road- 
machine. An old Irishman stood leaning 
upon his shovel as I approached. When 
asked for information regarding these places 
of interest, he appeared very willing to open 
his stock of knowledge. 

“Ye shpake to a man of fifty year in the 
town, lady,” he said proudly. “ I married me 
woman from the home of Misther Emerson, 
yender, I did.” 

I was interested, and the old man contin- 
ued with animation : 

“ That Misther Emerson wuz no man for 
money-makin’ at all. He wuz jist great on 
that ’ere stuff, philosophy — he wuz.” 

He then proceeded to relate the story of 
the seer failing to teach a young calf to drink 


198 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


from the pail, when his Bridget came to the 
rescue with the practical device of intro- 
ducing her finger into the calf’s mouth and 
leading it to the milk thus. 

As I left, the man said, shaking his head 
thoughtfully, ‘‘Well, I’m thinkin’ as how God 
made ivery wan good fer suthin’ er other, and 
ther ain’t no two of us alike, ye moind.” 

It was late when I climbed the ridge in 
Sleepy Hollow, and threw myself down, tired, 
near the grave of Emerson, — the cool, mossy 
ground beneath me, and the shady, canopy 
trees above ; no roar, no smoke, no screech- 
ing nor combat here. 

Overhead, through the foliage, I watched 
a soft, fleecy cloud sailing along serenely. 
Where was it going? What was its mis- 
sion ? 

Off through another opening in the green, 
the crescent moon hung pale and filmy as the 
cloud itself. Somewhere, other eyes, tired 
eyes, happy eyes, were looking up at this 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 199 


same cloud and moon, — wondering, fearing, 
waiting, trusting. 

And that moon was looking down, perhaps, 
on the old farm home, with mother’s neg- 
lected flower-garden, and the thousand and 
one familiar nooks and corners of the early 
days. 

Then my thoughts ran along to my own 
broken home, and to another grave, far away, 
marked by a simple stone, on which was 
written : 

“ It’s all going to come out right, dear.” 

Even then, while I laid my hands firmly 
on the altar -bars, all unconsciously I was 
drawing near the brink again, where through 
long days and months the forces let me 
hang balancing over black abysses in seem- 
ing mockery. 

Darkened stairways ! Cries and sobbings ! 
Mother voices. Trust and slumber. 


200 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


44 


“ God has conceded two sights to a man — 

One, of men’s whole work, time’s completed plan, 
The other, of the minute’s work, man’s first 
Step to the plan’s completeness.” 

O UR mutual friend Shirley is growing 
into a mild iconoclast — at last. 

In a recent letter I found the follow- 
ing, which, characteristically, he had labeled 
“An Affirmative Song” : 

“ O Lord, deliver us from all good people who leer, hold- 
ing their petticoats (and other petty things) high and 
dry from others. 

Deliver us from the bronze monument on the square. 
Horses with nostrils distended, wild rearing and plunging 
in battle. 

Men falling backward, heart - pierced, in torture and 
writhing. 

Deliver us from losses and bosses and crosses. 


WHAT WOULD ONE- HAVE ? 201 



> ' -..V. 

Deliver us from judgments and justices human. 

Deliver us from prostitution, married or not — rank, 
rampant, and rotten ^ foul-smelling to heaven. 

Let exchange of force be free, spontaneous, flowing. 

Deliver us from all cruelty, crampings, and corsets. 

Deliver us from all ranters, in pulpit, in press, or on plat- 
form. 

“ Not so, Lord! but deliver us from pride and ourselves! 
we are all these, and much more than these have we 
zigzagged. 

In the great test, we are they and they are we. Softly, 

These are they that shall shine as the stars in the heavens ! 

Deliver us from naught but unfaith, unlove, and unfreedom. 

Allah is great ! His nature endureth forever ! ” 

Whitman tells the same story, somewhat 
better than does Shirley : 

“Courage yet, my brother or my sister! 

Keep on — Liberty is to be subserv’d whatever occurs ; 

That is nothing that is quell’d by one or two failures, or 
any number of failures, 

Or by the indifference or ingratitude of the people, or by 
any iinfaithfulness. 

Or the show of the tushes of power, soldiers, cannon, 
penal statutes. 


202 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


“ What we believe in waits latent forever through all the 
continents, 

Invites no one, promises nothing, sits in calmness and 
light, is p>ositive and composed, knows no discourage- 
ment, 

W aiting patiently, waiting its time. 

“ I do not know what you are for (I do not know what I 
am for myself, nor what anything is for), 

But I will search carefully for it even in being foiled, 

In defeat, poverty, misconception, imprisonment — for 
they too are great.” 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 203 


45 


And, by a sleep, to say we end 


The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks 
That flesh is heir to.” 


IE still, dear.’^ 



L The words sounded strange and far 
away, but I obeyed with childlike trust- 
fulness, and forgot again. 

It was midnight when I opened my eyes 
and tried to understand. Oh, yes, the white 
bed, the screen, the dim light, the nurse 
bending over me, — yes, and the pain. 

‘‘ It’s all over,” said the s)mipathetic girl, 
kissing me gently — and then I remem- 
bered. 

Long weeks of illness, ministering hands — 
but stranger, still ; the hospital, iodoformic 


204 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


odors, the anaesthetic room, the cone over my 
face, the first choking sensation — then peace 
and forgetfulness. 

0 brother, friend ! when they told me I 
might never go about again, I had a chance 
to test my philosophy, and it stood the test. 
But in those first waking moments great 
weakness was upon me ; weakness of body 
and weakness of spirit ; and I could not be 
grateful for their hot-water bags, their salt 
solutions, and their strychnine hypos, that 
gave me back to consciousness. 

1 wanted to go back to the land of forget- 
fulness — ‘Unto the Silent Land” — and cross 
no more bridges. The road I had come 
seemed so rough and mountainous, I was so 
tired, I never wanted to contend any more ; 
but Nature heeded not. Who and what was 
I to be heeded? Just that same restless, 
unsatisfied protoplasmic mass that had wasted 
so much energy scrambling for happiness, 
ever since that other day when she, or rather 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 205 


it, was thrown out into objective existence 
with a cry. 

And so I lay there, helpless, and thought 
and thought, my mind circling round and 
round ever to the same point, like a man lost 
in a deep, dark forest. Sometimes I was in 
the seventh heaven, trusting, serene, most 
satisfied ; then, with a turn of the wheel, fear 
was upon me. Beads of perspiration moist- 
ened my pallid face at the thought of accu- 
mulating expense — no home, and the sordid 
world out there grinding and groaning. 

Who can understand the correlation of the 
higher and the lower, or explain the blending 
of physical, mental, and spiritual ? 

Is the One Force — the basic principle, the 
real essence in everything — pressing on in 
advanced or retarded evolutionary processes ? 
Is nothing either good or bad, but thinking 
makes it so ” ? 

There I lay, so still, and thought. So 
many things to think about ! So many ques- 


206 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


tions to be answered ! So many problems to 
solve 1 

In other crises I had learned the secret ; — 
but we forget so easily. Persistent self ! — 
source of all our annoyance ! O God ! must 
these things be, ere we shall think — ere we 
shall think ? 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 207 


46 

“ The place seemed new and strange as death. 

The white strait bed, with others strait and white, 
Like graves dug side by side at measured lengths, 
And quiet people walking in and out, 

With wonderful low voices and soft steps.” 

T he additional expense made me almost 
glad the private rooms were all occu- 
pied, and so, the fourth day, I was 
taken into my little corner, in ward C, to 
make room for the newly operated. 

The grotesque dress of convalescents served 
a purpose in taking my attention, moment- 
arily, out of the circuit it had been traveling. 
Some strange fatality had crowded the stout 
women into the narrow “ Hubbards,” while 
gowns of more ample fold hung loosely about 
their leaner sisters. Old gray wool and cot- 


208 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


ton skirts often showed below the unironed 
blue gingham dresses, and in many cases the 
gray cotton socks worn were unmated in 
color. 

But what were faded gowns and cotton 
socks where so much sorrow lingered ? Over 
in the second bed a young Swede woman lay 
dying. Each evening, after a day of labor, 
came the devoted young husband, who spoke 
broken English, and looked all that anxious 
love could express. 

« Take me home, no one loves me here ! ” 
said the woman, as she threw herself about 
frantically; and her talk became more wild 
and delirious. 

No special attention could possibly be 
given to any patient by the already over- 
worked nurses of that great municipal insti- 
tution. Dying woman, tired nurses, worried 
doctors, charitable donors, and magistrates, 
all were caught and held feeble victims by 
the greedy monster of commercialism. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 209 


Nineteen hundred years had passed since 
a manger-born one taught, Inasmuch as ye 
have done it unto one of the least of these, 
my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” We 
called ourselves his followers, and here was 
how we “ followed,” — singing psalms, waving 
palms, erecting great cathedrals to the glory 
of God and the memory of millionaires. 

Oh, consistency ! Much I marveled. Yes, 
compassion was in the world ; earnest, honest 
men and women, working along the lines of 
expediency, while the tragedy stalked before 
all eyes and Jesus was crucified again daily. 
And, Arthur, — I could not help it, — in all 
reverence and sincerity I grew to think that 
perhaps there are more fools in the world 
than hypocrites. For what sane person 
could ever hope to live the Golden Rule in a 
social order founded on business competition, 
which fosters selfishness and all that is anti- 
Christian? Any one, under such a system, 
who carries altruism farther than the Sunday- 


210 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


school class will very quickly be overtaken by 
the poor house or the insane asylum. 

I could not blame the tired nurse who said 
crossly of that neglected, dying sister, ** Well, 
she’s getting all she pays for ! ” That nurse 
was talking business.” She had become 
immersed to the ears, soaked full of the 
economic environment that calls the unit of 
value the Almighty Dollar, disregards pre- 
cious human life, tells us we are living in an 
arrested era, affirms that competition is the 
law of life, quotes the survival of the fittest, 
and comes back at you with the idea of future 
reward and the utility of sorrow ! 

No — I had not forgotten — I believed 
then as now, that the whole tendency, through 
long stretches of time, must be toward better- 
ment ; I tried to keep serene. But evolution- 
ary battles may be quite as deadly as those 
of revolution. I was a silent witness to only 
a detail of the struggle of the ages when I 
lay helpless on my white cot and saw the 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 21 1 


coming of that husband. White screens and 
silence were about the little bed he had vis- 
ited so faithfully. He was poor, he was un- 
learned, he was helpless — “ crunched in the 
jaws of a theft ” — but he had a heart, made 
of common, mortal heart-stuff ; he had loved 
and was bereaved, like others. 

Where flowed the wealth created by this 
hard-worked son of earth, that the woman he 
loved must suffer and die in acknowledged 
neglect ? 

Creation and accumulation — poverty and 
exploitation ! Would this old world ever work 
its way out of sordid materialism ? Would 
men, seeing the women who bear their chil- 
dren die neglected, restrain their anger for- 
ever ? 

I kept thinking. 


212 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


47 


“ One arrives at art only by roads barred to the vulgar — 
by the road of prayer, of purity of heart ; by confidence 
in the wisdom of the Eternal, and even in that which is 
incomprehensible.” 

I WENT to the city by trolley yesterday, 
and some more experiences came to me, 
Arthur, which I feel like telling you. 
Certain ornamental advertising cards, star- 
ing at passengers from opposite sides of the 
car, freely gave to an ungrateful public val- 
uable bits of information, which I in turn 
generously pass on to you. One card said 
that if a person wants a real money-making 
set of brains (and who doesn’t?) he should 
eat “ Fig Nuts.” Another said something 
about “ Our Own Salve ” being the best on 
the market, — that all others are spurious 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 213 


and perhaps dangerous, while ‘<Our Own” is 
sure cure for cuts, burns, frost-bites, rheu- 
matism, corns, and a “vague unrest and a 
nameless longing in the breast.” 

It reminded me of the old man who 
prayed, — “ God bless me and my wife, my 
son John and his wife, us four and no 
more.” 

But the text of the day was furnished by a 
certain hoboish-looking individual who sat at 
the further end of the seat I had chosen. 
There were three passengers when I boarded 
the car, but it began to fill rapidly as we 
approached the city. As time passed, your 
democratic sister was pushed along into 
closer relations with brother hobo. One 
seating space was left, and I peeked out of 
the corner of my eye at my neighbor. Hat 
slouched, coat shiny and frayed, as were the 
trousers ; shoes rusty and full of holes — out 
of one great hole protruded a toe, wisely 
taking Nature’s line of least resistance. The 


214 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


hands, neck, and ears, now so near me, 
pointed a moral to the advertisements over- 
head, telling of porcelain baths and soap that 
floats. Face unshaven, teeth, hair, and nails 
uncared for, — just here came the fat woman, 
one of the typical kind loaded with shopping 
packages and an umbrella to poke into your 
ear and knock against your hat. Puffing, 
panting, perspiring, and red, in uncomfort- 
able clothing, yet under all circumstances 
smiling and beaming, — God bless fat women ! 

The lady must be seated. My right-hand 
neighbor, of the wizened, thin-lipped variety, 
looked at me menacingly and nudged me 
along. Closer proximity to my friend on 
the left brought into operation other sense- 
centers. Olfactory nerves were carrying 
messages, and up went nose in revolt. Audi- 
tory nerves reported the wheezy, rattling 
breath, and I counted the blocks to the next 
transfer-station. 

No, Arthur, I didn’t for a moment shift 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 215 


my basic idea of brotherhood. To be con- 
sistent does not necessarily mean that one 
must eat, sleep, or converse upon art and phi- 
losophy, with a hottentot, a hobo, or a wood- 
chuck. Just be merciful ! Don’t put your 
heel upon their necks. In due time great 
evolutionary forces, sweeping around and 
about, will take care of them. Hands off ! 
That hobo has all eternity and all space to 
clean up in. 


2i6 what would one HAVE? 


48 

“ Sick and in prison and ye visited me ; I was a stranger 
and ye took me in.” 

r OUR weeks had passed at the hospital. 
I could sit up and walk about carefully, 
and was told I could soon go home. Go 
home ! Then I fell to planning. 

The next day a plainly dressed, serene- 
looking woman halted before my bed and 
asked the privilege of placing some religious 
literature upon my table. 

“ We are told ‘ whom the Lord loveth he 
chasten eth,’ ” said the gentle voice. 

The face and the voice won me. I an- 
swered, ** Something says ‘ fear not.’ ” 

A gleam of pleasure shot out from the 
woman’s eyes. She asked, “ When do you 
go home.?” 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 217 


A word of explanation, and she led me 
to the dressing-room as gently as a sister. 
Arrangements were made for my removal 
without delay — I was going home. 

That evening found me resting on the sofa 
in the cosy sitting-room of a wood-carver’s 
simple home, while mother set the table” 
in the neat kitchen dining-room adjoining ; 
then waited with me until half-past six, when 
‘‘Pa,” and Walter, the son, came from their 
work. 

“God bless this food to our bodies’ use,” 
prayed the father, as we bowed our heads 
reverently over the supper-table ; “ bless the 
stranger who has come among us, strengthen 
her, body and soul, so that she may not die, 
but live and declare the works of the Lord.” 

The beauty and simplicity in this home 
calmed the troubled waters of my restless 
spirit. Three months I lived with these God- 
people, away from rasping, sordid things; 
and then, growing stronger, I dropped back 


2i8 what would one HAVE? 


into the vortex with my faith once more 
strengthened in babes and sucklings. 

When we run against an obstacle in the 
dark, we realize our rate of speed.' I found 
I was gathering momentum somewhat again, 
when they handed me a telegram : 

‘‘ Father is failing, can you come ? ” 

Shout, contend, press, and counter-press in 
your human pandemonium ! I go aside to 
breathe and reflect a moment, to take myself 
back into the presence of the old mystery 
and the silences. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 219 


49 


“ All the hapless silent lovers, 

All the prisoners in the prisons, all the righteous and the 
wicked, 

All the joyous, all the sorrowing, all the living, all the 
dying. 

Pioneers 1 O pioneers ! ” 


P OOR, dear father. I didn’t know how 
much I loved him until I entered that 
quiet room, with its faint medicinal 
odors. The pure white of the linen about 
the sick-bed made a fitting back-ground for a 
face of character intensified by days of pain 
and waiting. The fine, firm mouth, aquiline 
nose, and dark, deep-set eyes beneath a square 
forehead, spoke of other things than stumps 
and stones and sordidness. Mayhap one of 
Carlyle’s tragedies had been enacted here — 


220 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


the cramping of a nature possessing capacity 
for grand achievement. 

I had always been timid and distant with 
my father until this moment, when all reserve 
was gone. Now I knew him, and he knew 
me. Oh, shy, strange something, deep with- 
in, — magic - working, inherent, — we know 
you when you show yourself, and we trust, 
as babes suck sureliest in the dark. If all 
else be lies and vanity, here is reality. 

It was a joy, those few remaining days, to 
sit by that bedside, holding the hand that had 
lost all hardness, and to tell, in parts and 
snatches, this story of my life, even as I am 
telling it to you ; — sometimes sweetly and 
serenely, often brokenly, but always for the 
sake of confiding. Oh, to confide the thing 
on our hearts to those who understand, and, 
understanding, love ! 

All along the life-journey, new surprises 
had lain in wait for me. I had continually 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 221 


chanced upon the rarest gems hidden away in 
rubbish-piles and obscure places. 

Earlier or later, even so had the treasure- 
houses of the heart and soul been opened up 
to me. Friend, lover, mother, brother, — 
and now I had found a father. 


222 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


50 

“ So mothers have God’s license to be missed.” 


M others, yes, and fathers too; and I 
should soon be missing mine. But it’s 
not for those who know and love to 
walk despairing and unconsoled when separa- 
tion comes. No, it’s for some one gone away 
who did not know, but should have known. 

True soul-communion, Arthur, comes very 
near bridging over the chasm between the liv- 
ing and the dead. But to sit at the same table 
with one who does not speak your language, 
— does not know, — here is space indeed that 
no wire or wireless message can ever over- 
come. 

To-day so runs my dream. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 223 


51 

“ Who, in all this world, 

Has never hungered? Woe to him who has found 
The meal enough ! ” 

A nd now came my turn to listen, — 
father and daughter, each to the other, 
confessed and confessor. And, when 
stript of all detail, how very much alike, 
Arthur, look the heart - experiences of all 
men ! 

Onward, up, the way led us, through the 
baby days, the boy days, the dreaming days, 
the ambitious days, the crushed-in-the-bud 
days, the fall - into - line, march-with-the-file 
days, to the hardened, no -way -out days. 
Turn, turn, grind, grind, till the vital fires 
burned low, the wheels moved slowly, belts 
slackened, and the clatter and clang of 


224 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


machinery dropped into an almost painful 
hush. 

“ Yes, little girl,” said my father one even- 
ing, as I lay with my head beside his on the 
pillow ; yes, even helpless and pained as I 
am now, I am feasting upon you every mo- 
ment, and wondering what happiness might 
mean if we could go over it all and have 
mother back again ! No, no, not with things 
as they were, God knows ; but with some 
social arrangement more human, more adapted 
to love, life, and liberty ; — some order where 
men did not make it a business to deal in 
blood and flesh. 

“ Yes, I know, I am just as guilty as any 
of them. I tried to grab and plunder, my- 
self, regardless ; but evidently my genius 
didn’t lie in that direction. Perhaps I wasn’t 
one of the ‘ fittest to survive,’ that they tell 
so much about. In reality, I guess nobody 
wants anyone but the fittest to survive! — 
but will the test of the ‘ fittest ’ always be 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 225 


as it is in the tiger’s jungle ? It looks as if 
something else ought to enter into things. 
To be fighting and plundering always, in 
order to find out who’s fittest, doesn’t seem 
much like peace on earth, or good will, 
does it ? 

It sounds strange to hear your father 
talk of peace and good will, doesn’t it, dear ! 
but it’s come to me at last that we are some- 
thing more than animals, Mabel. Plato 
would probably find himself outdone in a 
prize-fight, and I imagine Jesus wouldn’t feel 
much at home down amidst the bull and bear 
business of Wall street. 

‘‘ Long ago when men began to take wives, 
and children followed, we find love and 
mutual interest entered into affairs. The fam- 
ily and tribes came about first, then cities, 
States, and Nations arose. It looks now as 
if some still greater * combine ’ of the world’s 
forces must result sooner or later. No, child, 
I don’t imagine that everybody will become 


226 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


angelic in a moment. We’ve been creeping 
along up, — it’s quite a distance yet to the 
top. Once we thought we couldn’t rid our- 
selves of black slavery, but we did, and now 
we have to deal with white slavery. It won’t 
do to get discouraged, — we must go right on 
breaking shackles. We may say to men, * Be 
free, be free,’ but they can’t be truly free 
with society sitting on their backs. We may 
preach to men, * Be good, be good,’ but how 
can they be truly good and be at war all the 
time ! All ‘ business ’ is founded on com- 
petition, and selfish competition means war. 
Golden rules and war can’t mix, any more 
than oil and water. 

“ I wonder men don’t see there’s a screw 
loose somewhere ; but I didn’t myself until I 
was almost crushed alive in the old machine. 
We’ve been in this condition of things so 
long we really don’t know what brutes we 
have become. Things happen around us 
every day that would shock, or ought to 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 227 


shock, a civilized man ; but it’s like the night, 
— so common we don’t think anything about 
it. If a widow has a few pennies laid by for 
a rainy day, and a ‘ fittest to survive ’ fellow 
comes along and robs her of her little sum, 
she may starve or go on the street, — nobody 
cares. They call such men clever fellows 
and pass it along. 

** And then to think of the great waste to 
the world in invention and beautiful things ! 
Crusts, clothes, corners to stand in, come up 
for first consideration. ‘Side-issues’ take 
their chances. But men love to express and 
create, and we get some things worth while 
now and then in spite of it all. What would 
we have if men stopped trying to trip each 
other, and all pulled together ! 

“ The thought of my own wasted life 
doesn’t so much hurt me now, as the thought 
of my own hardness and cruelty. But, Mabel, 
when you sit here and stroke my head, I feel 
it means forgiveness, and I guess they’ll all 


228 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


forgive me. I couldn’t see any way out. 
You know one grows dazed, benumbed. If 
it’s a shoestring, or a seat in the synagogue, 
selfishness controls. 

“ No, child. I’m not tired. It rests me to 
talk to you. It gives me more confidence to 
walk out into the darkness, though I really 
never feared. I guess after all it will be all 
right, somewhere.” 

After musing a moment, father continued : 

“ Human love teaches us a great deal. 
Oh ! if I had taken time to love more, I 
might have — well, no matter. I remember 
the summer morning, years ago, when you 
first came. I let you cuddle your little soft 
face in my sunburnt neck a moment, your 
warm baby breath was upon me, your tiny 
life -pulses newly throbbing with blood so 
like my own, — and great swells of feeling 
vibrated through me. God, such love ! but 
it’s a moment out of years. Then the panic 
of ’73 came rushing down upon us, and I 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 229 


forgot — forgot and became a machine; and 
worse, for machines can’t get tired and anx- 
ious, hard and cruel. Insanity! And still 
they tell us we must keep up this conflict 
forever — contend and fight and murder, 
because men * grow ’ so 1 

** Later, your brothers went and filled the 
house with books — books of the head and 
of the heart. I picked up bits here and 
there. I opened my eyes — commenced to 
think again ; and I found, however reasoning 
and methods may differ, men deep down are 
brothers. They all love love, and hate hate. 
Then came the new and satisfying conscious- 
ness that the whole grand drift is toward 
world-wide brotherhood. What a dream I 


230 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


52 

I say to thee, — do thou repeat 
To the first man thou mayest meet 
In lane, highway, or open street, — 

That he, and we, and all men, move 
Under a canopy of Love 
As broad as the blue sky above ; 

That doubt and trouble, fear and pain 
And anguish, all are shadows vain ; 

That death itself shall not remain. 

And one thing further make him know, — 

That to believe these things are so, 

This firm faith never to forego. 

Despite of all which seems at strife 
With blessing, all with curses rife, — 

That this is blessing, this is life. 

T he clock struck out the clear stroke of 
one, and I started up nervously. 

‘‘ Don’t, don’t, child,” said my father 
gently, “ I’ve been watching you rest, and it 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 231 


seemed almost like that other time, over 
thirty years ago.” 

“ But,” I suggested, “ the medicine, father ! ” 

“ Oh, I know, but there’s better medicine 
than bottles hold.” 

I gave the quieting potion to my patient, 
and replenished the wood fire to keep out the 
chill of early spring, then returned to the 
bedside. I would not call my brother as 
usual that night, for I felt much refreshed 
by my three hours’ sleep. My father, how- 
ever, was insistent, and I complied. When I 
bent to kiss the hot, eager lips and forehead 
that waited for me on the pillow, he held me 
a moment, and then said : 

Yes, you must go, dear. I forgot again 
and talked too much. ’Twas all jumbled up, 
too; but did you hear, Mabel, when I said 
that all men love love, and hate hate ? The 
whole thing only amounted to that, anyway ; 
don’t ever forget it — now go. Good night.” 

Quiet, but with wide open eyes, I lay on 


232 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


my bed long time that night, thinking. How 
transparent things appear, sometimes, Arthur, 
when we step aside and focus the mind upon 
them ! How strange it was that the world 
could ever make me forget who I was ! But 
when one is out in it, the belts fly and the 
wheels hum, and you just forget, that’s all. 
What a strange thing it all is — so unreal, so 
unsatisfying, yet we hug it so. And I won- 
dered if I should ever forget again — like the 
rest — they go so fast — they push, they 
trample ; but deep down, love, — love, — 
love. 

The sun was streaming into the room 
when I awakened, making leafy shadows over 
the basket quilt that covered the bed. I 
listened to the sounds within and without 
doors, to determine the hour. It must be 
nine o’clock, I thought. Martha was placing 
the milk pans and pails on the long board 
near the door of the summer kitchen. The 
man was already in the field plowing, and 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 233 


calling fretfully to the horses when the plow 
struck against a root or stone. Huge, crude, 
lumbering John — deep down did he have a 
rudimentary love of love, and hate of hate? 
Out came Martha again, whistling snatches 
of ragtime. Buxom, hearty Martha, joking 
and flirting with John in her harum-scarum 
way — does she, too, stand for love of love, 
and hate of hate ? 

The doctor’s carriage halted at the gate, 
and dressing hurriedly I met him in the hall 
as he was leaving. 

‘‘ Your father seems better, girl, in many 
ways, since you came home,” said the good 
man ; ‘‘ but there isn’t much to build on ; the 
heart’s weak, you know. He and I are both 
pretty well done for — seen our best days — 
not much like when I brought you to them, a 
morning like this, years ago. I’ve boys and 
girls all around the country ; brought ’em 
first, and then took ’em through the mumps 
and measles and whooping-cough — ought to 


234 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 

know ’em from start to finish. Never ex- 
pected to see you looking so well and rugged. 
Them city chaps can slash anybody all to 
pieces, and make them over about as good as 
bran’ new. Well, I’ve got to be jogging,” 
said the doctor, looking at his watch. “ Sam 
Bowen’s boy stepped on a rusty nail last 
week ; got a pretty bad foot out of it. Over 
at Miles’s they’ve got scarlet-fever.” 

Then, with a cheery “ Good morning,” he 
drove away down the hill, his old buggy 
rattling and clattering over the stony, washed- 
out road. 

The morning had the fresh, frosty touch 
of April in it. I caught up a shawl from the 
hall and walked about for some time, noting 
the silent influences at work preparing for 
later exhibitions of triumph in creation. 
Arthur, do you really think there are those 
who, in all the years, never feel the rare 
touch of Nature as I felt it that morning? 
How poor must be the soul like that ! 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 235 


When I returned to the sick-room, I found 
my father, as the doctor had said, brighter 
and more hopeful than he had been for days. 
It was towards evening that he appeared 
drowsy and asked to have the room darkened. 
He was making ready for the final step 
out into the darkness — into the Unknown. 
Hovering peace settled down gently over the 
white face on the pillow as we watched, until 
the sharp-drawn lines relaxed, and in their 
place we saw return again the calm, sweet 
smile of sleeping childhood. 

In the morning, when I stood alone in the 
hushed room and took his cold, unresponsive 
hand in my own, I breathed softly the words, 
‘‘All is well — all is well!” Another life 
that had touched my own closely had gone 
out — gone away. “ Gone — gone,” we say, 
as we reach out like babies. How limited 1 
How limitless ! The universe 1 Eternity I 


236 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


53 


“ As I walk these broad majestic days of peace, 

Around me I hear that eclat of the world, politics, 
produce. 

The announcements of recognized things, science. 

The approved growth of cities and the spread of inven- 
tions. 

“ I see the ships (they will last a few years). 

The vast factories with their foremen and workmen. 

And hear the indorsement of all, and do not object to it. 

“But I too announce solid things, . . . 

What else is so real as mine ? 

Liberty and the divine average, freedom to every slave on 
the face of the earth, . . . 

And our visions, the visions of poets, the most solid 
announcements of any.” 

W ERE I writing a story, Arthur, I 
could weave in everything beautiful, 
and make everybody good and happy ; 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 237 


but reality is always more strange and relent- 
less than fiction. 

Four weeks had passed since my father fell 
asleep dreaming of love, and now they put 
into my hand a tiny bit of paper. Not only 
a few thousand dollars, but a million broken 
things, hideous and misshapen, were repre- 
sented by that innocent scrap that lay before 
me. I crushed it tightly to see if drops of 
blood oozed between my fingers — no blood 
appeared. 

My plans for the future were soon resolved 
upon. I would go out to see, to feel, to know 
the world of men and women. I would place 
my finger upon the pulse of fevered hu- 
manity — find a cure for civilization — be 
another fanatic let loose upon the planet. 
Audacity ! 

Think of it ! To wander alone about battle- 
fields strewn all over with bleached bones, 
cannon, and crosses. To push a woman’s 
face against the loaded guns ! 


238 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


But then, some things are safe by reason 
of their very insignificance ; as mice, they 
tell us, escape from burning buildings unhurt, 
or as tiny birds flit all around dangerous 
places unnoticed and uninjured. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 239 


54 


“ I see all the menials of the earth, laboring, 

I see all the prisoners in the prisons, 

I see the defective human bodies of the earth. 

The blind, the deaf and dumb, idiots, hunchbacks, lunatics. 
I see ranks, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, I go among 
them, I mix indiscriminately. 

And I salute all the inhabitants of the earth.” 


E ven so I went, even so I saluted all the 
inhabitants of the earth. I worked with 
them, I sat with them, I felt with them, 
I learned from them. I' climbed rickety 
stairs, I descended into cellars and base- 
ments ; and as I worked my way deeper and 
deeper into human life I became ever more 
and more conscious of the staggering needs 
facing the children of men. 

In sweatshops and smoky kitchens I took 
my place, and, oh ! how I grew in love and 


240 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


compassion. I stood long hours behind 
counters in great department stores, wearing 
the perfunctory smile in fear ; but here rested 
the difference — I was free. To an anatom- 
ical student, dissecting a dead body is revolt- 
ing enough; but to be chained to a putrid 
carcass, as were these — whew ! — les miser- 
ables ! 

And let no man think the haggard, 
pinched, ungroomed bodies of working men 
or women indicate indelicacy of feeling, or so 
much inferior stuff of head and heart. As I 
know men and women, plebeian and patrician 
are dipped originally out of the same vast 
reservoir. Manicuring doesn’t count. 

Oh, Arthur, I could tell of incidents and 
incidents, where the very blood of innocents 
cried out to heaven for justice and retribu- 
tion. As I sat one day at lunch with 
others employed in a great city store, I 
noticed, across the rough, bare board table, 
a delicate - featured girl, of perhaps fifteen 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 241 


years. Her manner and language were those 
of the bright, refined school-girl, contrasting 
strangely with the rough slang of the place. 
She informed me she had been in her present 
position only three weeks, and of her work 
she said : 

“Oh, I like it well enough, but I didn’t 
want to leave my school and music. Mamma 
didn’t want me to, either ; but we had to do 
something. Papa died last fall. I’m the 
oldest, and mamma isn’t very well.” 

I questioned further. 

“No, I don’t get but two-fifty a week, but 
then, mamma had to feed and clothe me any- 
way, you see. Papa tuned pianos, and he 
wanted me to go to school every day, when 
he was alive, but I must help mamma now.” 

This was a mild case. I thought, though, 
that I could almost read the future of that 
great-eyed girl. Everybody knows the world 
is full of these tragic repressions. 

Problems, problems ! Every way I turned. 


242 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


up before me stood some sphynx, looking 
frank and solemn, saying : “ Read my secret.” 
Economic problems, race problems, sex prob- 
lems — too much talked about — all cried 
out : “ Read my secret ! read my secret ! ” 

I wandered on, questioning, testing, wait- 
ing. 

Many months and many miles were be- 
tween me and that time and place more than 
two years before, when my father had said, 
“ Mabel, remember : deep down, all men lov^e 
love, and hate hate.” What had I found ? 
How had I changed ? Not at all, — only the 
old glamour was gone. The far away, the 
great things, had been brought near and 
handled. The poor and despised things had 
been lifted up, and, scratching the surface of 
each and all, I found — myself. 

Humanity was indeed a solid, a unit, rising 
or falling together. On the one hand, per- 
verse collar-buttons, damp salt-cellars, bread- 
and-butter struggles — hideous Mr. Hydes; 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 243 


on the other, soul-stirring music vibrating 
in serene love - atmospheres — joyous Dr. 
Jekylls. 

Savage or escaped felon, do you not, from 
ambush or hiding-place, sometimes look up in 
awe and prayer to the immensity of silence 
and stars ? I know you do. We are kin — 
give me your hand. The source of life is 
one. 

So, and even more so, I grew to feel 
toward the men and women I met. Mysti- 
cally mingled, gold and dross, animal and 
angel — bondmen forever — rushing along 
out there, to and fro, through space, in 
eternity. Never a moment anywhere but 
wanting to be somewhere else. Never hav- 
ing so much but they wanted more. God, 
pity ! Not far from me the best ; not Very 
far away the worst. They were myself — 
my very self indeed. 

That day, in a distant land, I reached 
another climax. In the old weary way I 


244 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


threw myself down and looked off over the 
city and the river, to the distant blue hills, 
and beyond. 

Yes, it was true. Deep down, men did 
love love, and hate hate, and on this hung 
all the law and the prophets. Something 
seemed to say, ‘‘Go back, child. You have 
seen the ruins of Tyre and Carthage ; you 
have wept in Galilee and Gethsemane ; but 
there is that which shall outlive cities and 
sorrows, — it is the leaven of love, down 
deep, working in the human heart, bringing 
about the ‘ liberty of love at the end of 
ages.’ ” 


“ Paracelsus. (His secret ! I shall get His secret — 
fool !) 

I am he that aspired to know : and thou ? 

Aprils . I would love infinitely, and be loved 1 ” 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 245 


55 


“ The world waits 

For help. Beloved, let us love so well 
Our work shall still be better for our love, 

And still our love be sweeter for our work.” 

y ou know very well, Arthur, the rest 
of my story. Children of two hemis- 
pheres, we met. All that wealth and 
culture could give left you still hungry; all 
that discipline and denial could do left me 
still expectant. 

In cap and gown you found me going 
about softly, binding up bruised and broken 
bodies ; and that was well. But wonders 
never cease in the realm of spirit — you 
came, and that was better ; I awoke, and 
that was best. Other daughters should be 
raised up to carry cups of water to moisten 


246 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


fevered tongues. I must go out there where 
souls were a-fevered and thirsting for the 
water of life. 

Lo, ’twas a great day — the day of your 
coming, — my day ! 

The message of the little farm-girl, who 
wept alone for a sickened, selfish world, is to 
burst forth at last ! It is simply the old love- 
story that men, through all the ages, have 
been struggling to externalize in art and 
institutionalism. But the later message will 
speak of more than love and truth and beauty 
inherent at the heart of all things. It will 
discuss ways and means of realization, and 
fear not. 

Men are learning the difference between 
just and unjust competition, and are therefore 
losing faith in the fallacy that the removal of 
the present unnatural stimulus means stultifi- 
cation of individual effort. By dear-bought 
experience they find, Arthur, that it’s the 
forced, anxious, starving conditions that stul- 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 247 


tify and dwarf. Souls long to express — why 
not give them a chance? We cannot any 
longer afford to settle matters by tooth and 
claw, or even by craft and cunning — it’s too 
expensive to the race. With rightful access 
to the natural resources of the earth, the 
children of men will yet cause the hills and 
valleys to resound with the echoes of love- 
lays and peace-paeans. 

Yes, a Day of Judgment, as it were, is 
come. The search-lights are turned upon 
men — they are seeking and finding them- 
selves. The days of caves and cannibal- 
ism we trust are passed. Altruism and 
reverence have entered into this brother- 
conscious, God-conscious animal, man. He 
stands on the very apex of evolutionary 
Nature, looking off into the starry depths of 
Infinitude — worshipful and longing to better 
understand. A new transition -time is with 
us — forces are falling into line. Ancient 
slavery gave place to feudalism, feudalism to 


248 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


capitalism, and what better can take the place 
of capitalism than a sane co-operative regime 
“where only naked merit counts, and the rise 
to eminent appreciation, impelled by one of 
the strongest instincts of human nature, will 
be the business of life ” ? 

Even thus, we believe, with mutual obliga- 
tions, and with advantages for all, shall the 
great reciprocal aggregation usher in more 
quickly the riper day of the true individualism. 
We shall have done away with the monop- 
olistic system that brutalizes men and pros- 
titutes women — then stones the women and 
kills off the men in commercial warfare ! 
Call to mind the great non-resister who drove 
out money-changers, but said to the woman, 
“ Neither do I condemn thee, go, and sin no 
more.” 

Small wonder is it, Arthur, that the multi- 
tudes wait, listening for the voices of prophets 
crying in the wilderness ; and when they 
hear, responding cry : “ Refresh us again, for 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 249 


we do faint.” The world has grown very 
weary with shams and shambles — with the 
wailings of women and little children in the 
market-places, while many run to and fro and 
knowledge doesn’t increase very fast. High 
time it is for men to much marvel ; due 
time for murmurings to go abroad of race 
solidarity and brotherhood. Pruning-hooks, 
plowshares, and peace, against swords, sabers, 
and strenuosity. This way draws gravity — 
drive on your chariots of fire ! 

When heads have bumped up against some 
little abstract things like love and justice 
long enough, comes a realization that prin- 
ciples possess weight and dimensions just as 
surely as stocks and stones and Standard Oil. 
Yes, humanity can be trusted. It will not 
eat husks forever when there is enough and 
to spare at the old home. 

In pursuit of happiness? Belt up to the 
big machinery ! The world is large enough 
for blessedness. 


250 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


And to think we have lived to see the 
larger day breaking ! To take our place and 
work together ! 

What would one have ? — Life ! 

Life abundant — more and most abundant ! 

The accounts balance — close the ledger, 
lock the desk, go home and rest till the 
morrow cometh, when new strength shall be 
given for the new task. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 251 


56 

“ Hence, may not truth be lodged alike in all, 
The lowest as the highest ? some slight film 
The interposing bar which binds a soul 
And makes the idiot, — just as makes the sage, 
Some film removed, the happy outlet whence 
Truth issues proudly ? ” 


D ON’T blame me, Arthur, if I fail you 
to-day. It’s another case of too much 
housekeeper. The good woman cer- 
tainly has designs, deep, dark, and dire, 
against anything that doesn’t smack of the 
earth earthy ; but we forgive her, for the 
strawberry shortcake’s sake ; also because we 
hope to be forgiven. 

The morning was perfect as well as my 
mood. I had been making a sort of mental 
pivot out of that little scrap from the early 


252 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


English dramatists which Emerson quotes in 
one of his essays. A portion runs thus : 

“ His soul hath subjugated Martius’ soul. 

By Romulus, he is all soul, I think ; 

He hath no flesh, and spirit cannot be gyved. 

Then we have vanquished nothing ; he is free. 

And Martius walks now in captivity.” 

With an extra touch of dramatic finish, I 
was going over the impressive third line once 
more, mentally resolving to consecrate myself 
anew to the overcoming agencies : 

“ He hath no flesh, and spirit cannot be gyved,” — 

there she loomed with ample proportions, 
neatly covered by afternoon white apron — 
the lights were out ! In place of the weeping 
Dorigen and brave Sophocles, visions of apple 
dumplings and whipped cream opened up 
before me, while savory odors of chicken-pie 
and simmering sauces floated about me. I 
struck earth with such force that I actually 
rebounded. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 253 


She said she did wish Miranda Peabody 
would take in the old underclothes that had 
been hanging on the line since Saturday. 
She said she herself always believed in wash- 
ing on Monday ; every real good housekeeper 
did ; but she guessed it didn’t matter much 
to the Peabodys whether anything was clean 
or not ; the children were certainly a sight to 
behold. She said the oldest girl was just like 
her mother, but she guessed the “ men-folks 
would be half-way decent if the women were 
different. 

Then she side-tracked upon men-folk in 
general and her own in particular. She bore 
down with especial emphasis upon the mar- 
velous mind, manners, and morals of Marvin, 
her ‘‘eldest first-born son.” Over and over 
she repeated, then reaffirmed, the seemingly 
simple declaration that the aforesaid and the 
same Marvin “didn’t have to lift his hand 
unless he wanted to.” 

At first I saw no need to respond with 


254 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


either amazement or sympathy to the bare 
statement of so simple a fact. Evidently 
Marvin could lift his hand if he wished, and 
I was passive — willing to concede the point 
and let the matter pass. But as the matron 
waxed more and more enthusiastic over this 
crowning climax as it were in the situation, 
I could not remain unmoved. 

But why this animation, this stress and 
fuss, all because somebody — even Marvin 
himself — “ didn’t have to lift his hand unless 
he wanted to”? To be frank, I have been 
much puzzled over the matter ever since. It 
must be one of those cases that they tell us 
need to be read between the lines. 

Well, I’m glad meantime to know the poor 
fellow can lift his hand if he wants to, and 
perhaps I ought to be glad because his 
mother’s glad. I’ll try. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 255 


57 


“ The old world waits the time to be renewed ; 

T oward which, new hearts in individual growth 
Must quicken, and increase to multitude, — 
Developed whence, shall grow spontaneously 
New churches, new economies, new laws 
Admitting freedom, new societies 
Excluding falsehood. He shall make all new.” 

W HAT a long letter I have written! 

Since its commencement, early spring 
has passed along into midsummer. 
As I glance back over these pages, the 
thought comes that this love-letter to you, 
Arthur, might pass as a sort of presentment 
of many unwritten love-letters pent up thrill- 
ing and throbbing in inarticulate human 
hearts. 

Many, many times have I wished you were 


256 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


with me here, meditating and refreshing, 
while the life-processes unfold more and more 
abundantly about me. With you here, joy 
would be almost complete. 

Often I lie down on the ground and watch 
the little creatures chasing about in the soft 
mould, among the leaves and grasses. I 
wonder if their schemes 

“ Gang aft a-gley, 

An’ leave them naught but grief and pain 
For promis’d joy.” 

A small world is theirs to us, Arthur, but 
perhaps great God-like creatures are looking 
in on us, as we disport ourselves in and out 
among the taller timber of this earth. 

Yesterday I broke a milkweed stalk, to see 
the creamy sap gush out profusely. Rich 
Nature ! And to-day I broke a spray of 
blackberry bush, which always reminds me 
of the bride in white waiting for the bride- 
groom. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 257 


Yes, so we met. And you said, ‘‘We two 
part not again.” And here we stand, in the 
year of our Lord nineteen hundred and six — 
two tiny soul-centers — talking of love and 
the deep things — children prattling — brooks 
babbling — waves talking to each other along 
the shore. 


258 WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 


58 

“ So in man’s self arise 
August anticipations, symbols, types 
Of a dim splendor ever on before 
In that eternal circle life pursues. 

For men begin to pass their nature’s bound. 

And find new hopes and cares which fast supplant 
Their proper joys and griefs; they grow too great 
For narrow creeds of right and wrong which fade 
Before the unmeasured thirst for good : while peace 
Rises within them ever more and more. 

Such men are even now upon the earth, 

Serene amid the half-formed creatures round 

Who should be saved by them and joined with them.” 

N OW that my letter is finished, I come 
back — back to the world and work — 
back where men throw themselves 
under Juggernaut cars, missing the mean- 
ing. 

But rest secure, Arthur ; — at the center. 


WHAT WOULD ONE HAVE? 259 


fixed firmly into the innermost nature of 
things, rests the germ necessary for correct- 
ing all errors. Everything shall return and 
renew, and that on forever. We are building 
but one step of the stairs leading up to the 
Altar — let our foundation be placed on the 
rock and not on a slippery place. In coming 
days, as in our own day, breakers and build- 
ers shall be raised up as necessity demands. 
Precedent and prejudice reign but for a while 
— then come upheavals and rendings asunder. 
The poor world, all lacerated and grown 
weary to very heart-break, welcomes the new 
poet, prophet, artist, great soul, who, gather- 
ing together the scattered fragments of the 
imperishable, gives out other poems, sermons, 
pictures, systems, for men to live by for a 
season. 

Where shall the limitless end ? What shall 
be the morning ? 

To look off into the future, and see men 
still forming and destroying, like little chil- 


26 o what would one HAVE? 


dren playing in the sand, tests trustfulness 
and patience for the moment. Still, the 
Voice says : “Not in time or space, but 
within, lies the land you seek — the land of 
promise. Behold ! Be ! ’* 

And beholding, I cry aloud, “ O Lord, my 
soul breaketh, for the longing that it hath 
unto Thy judgments at all times.” 


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